even 


Nina  LarreyDury 


LIBRARY 

UNIVfUSITYOF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


PS  3507  U878  H6 


3  1822  01037  4502 


3507 
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Hep 


The  HOUSE  of 
THE    SEVEN    GABBLERS 


'I  say,  old  chap,  anybody  at  home  ?' " 

[Page  32] 


The  HOUSE  of 
THE    SEVEN    GABBLERS 


BY 

NINA    LARREY    DURYEA 


ILLUSTRATED   BY 

HERMANN    HEYER 


NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 

D.  APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

191 1 


COPYRIGHT,  1911,  BY 
D.   APPLETON    AND   COMPANY 


Published  June,  1911 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


TO 
MY   MOTHER 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  . — THE   HOUSE  AND  THE  GABBLERS    ...  I 

II. — MAID  TO   ORDER          .....  22 

III. — MR.    AND   MRS.    ROBINSOV    ....  47 

IV. — DIPLOMACY  IN  THE  FOREST  .  .  .  72 

V. — BEAUTY   IN   MASKS      .  .  .  .  .  91 

VI. — THE  ARCHANGEL         .          .  .  .  .103 

VII. — A  PICNIC  AND  A   HOMECOMING      .  .          .125 

VIII. — VISITING  AND   VISITED  .  .  .  .148 

IX. — REVELATIONS      .  .  .  .  .  .172 

X. — THE  MAYORESS'S  INVASION  .  .  .        206 

XI. — "AND  so  THEY  WERE  MARRIED"          .          .        233 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


'"I  say,  old  chap,  anybody  at  home?"        .       Frontispiece 

"Lillian  with  a  sheet  draped  about  her  elegant  person  .    .    . 

checked  off  lists  with  practical  efficiency"       .  .        15 

"  'And  I'll  roller-skate  while  you  paint" :      ...        19 

"A  rotund  form  was  his,  over  which  his  glistening  shirt-front 

lay  rounded  like  a  pouter  pigeon"          .  .  •        35 

"'Margaret,  will  you  do  me  the  honor  of  presenting  me  to 

this  lady?'" 40 

"'Don't  get  it.      It   hasn't    enough    keel    to  stand    heavy 

weather''       .......        49 

"Up  into  these    trees  steps  led,   twisting  up  through  huge 

branches  to  platforms"       .  .  .  .  .51 

'"Ye  gods!    What  have  I  done?'"  61 

"  'Jean,  what  do  you  mean  by  idling  there?"        .  .        74 

"'You! '  he  ejaculated"  .....        79 

"Aristotle  swayed  toward  the  neat,  grim  apparition,  scream 
ing:    'Go  to  the  devil!'"  ....        95 

"He  presented  himself  politely  as  Faustino  di  Monturbia"     107 
"  'My  name  is  Faustino  di  Monturbia'  ':       .  .  1 1  i 

"His  mouth  opened,  and  there  issued  forth   .    .    .   the  famil 
iar,  prolonged,  agonized  bray"     .  .          .  .122 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"Under  a  wooden  kiosk,  girls  were  washing  clothes"  .  127 
"Madame  Flaubert  rushed  out,  gesticulating  wildly"  .  143 
ft 'Madame  est  servie,'  said  Marie  politely"  .  .157 

"The  door  flew  open  and  a  large  red  head  protruded  through 

the  aperture"  .  „  .  .  .  .173 

"'I  will  tell  you  everything,'  he  said"          .  .          .191 

"  'It  is  not  true,  because  it  was  I  who  proposed  to  Jean' "    221 

"The   Mayor  dismounted,   and  walked  beside  me    in    the 

twilight"         .  .  .  .  .          .  .235 

"  'He's  coming!     He's  coming!' '       .  255 

"  'What  was  it  she  said  about  my  waist  ? '  she  asked  slowly"    263 


The    HOUSE    of 
THE    SEVEN    GABBLERS 


CHAPTER  I 

THE     HOUSE     AND     THE     GABBLERS 

PASCAL  once  said  that  if  Cleopatra's  nose 
had  been  a  little  shorter  the  history  of  the 
world  might  have  been  changed.     Thus  are 
great  events  shaped  by  trifles. 

Had  I  been  an  instant  later  in  turning  the  cor 
ner  of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  that  June  afternoon, 
this  history  of  the  eventful  months  passed  in  the 
Chateau  de  Pelouse  would  never  have  been 
chronicled. 

Dodging  an  automobile,  I  ran  against  Mar 
garet  Chanler,  who,  with  her  usual  indifference 
to  surroundings,  was  piloting  an  old  woman 
across  the  bewildering  thoroughfare.  Safely 
landed  on  the  sidewalk,  I  claimed  her  for  a  talk 


The  HOUSE  of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

and  tea  at  the  Ritz;  and,  despite  her  protests, 
firmly  directed  her  toward  that  Mecca  of  fashion. 

"Never  mind  your  clothes,"  I  cried.  "It  is 
an  age  since  we  met,  and  I  have  a  thousand  things 
to  ask  and  tell." 

We  reached  the  hotel  garden,  where,  beneath 
huge  scarlet  umbrellas,  one's  friendly  enemies  dis 
sect  buttered  toast  and  reputations  with  well- 
bred  composure  and  the  moral  support  of  irre 
proachable  toilettes.  The  maitre  d'hotel  whisked 
from  a  table  a  card  marked  "  Reserved,"  bear 
ing  the  name  of  a  duchess,  and  ensconced  us  in 
my  favorite  corner.  Conscientious  Margaret  de 
murred  as  we  usurped  the  great  one's  table. 

"Don't  you  fret,"  I  said.  "She  is  the  meanest 
woman  in  Europe,  and  Alphonse  prefers  Ameri 
can  duchesses.  Now  tell  me  everything.  What 
are  you  doing  here?  Painting  more  portraits  of 
Crowned  Heads?  " 

Margaret  twitched  her  glasses  from  her  eyes. 

"Not  this  time,"  she  said,  smiling.  "Wiscon 
sin  has  commissioned  me  to  decorate  the  dome  of 
its  new  Public  Library,  and  I'm  going  to  work  as 
soon  as  I  get  settled." 

"Settled  where?" 

2 


The    HOUSE    and    the    GABBLERS 

uln  the  Chateau  de  Pelouse,  which  old  Count 
ess  d'Eeyleau  has  loaned  me,  and  which  has  been 
untenanted  for  years.  It  was  built  by  Louis  XIV., 
who  hunted  wild  boars  in  its  park.  I'll  live  in  a 
corner  of  it  with  a  couple  of  servants,  and  it  will 
be  quiet,  heavenly  and  cheap." 

With  an  inward  doubt  as  to  anything  cheap 
being  heavenly,  I  heaved  an  envious  sigh. 

"Oh,  you  lucky  creature!"  I  cried.  "It 
sounds  too  delightful.  I  am  so  \voefully  tired  of 
my  kind  of  life.  It  is  only  pleasure — never  real 
interest  or  peace.  Really,  my  boy  Alwyn  is  my 
sole  excuse  for  living." 

"  You  are  a  spoiled  child  of  fortune,"  said 
Margaret,  "  to  \vhom  the  gods  have  been  too 
kind.  As  the  French  say,  '  Le  bonheur,  c'est 
d'etre  riche,  jeune  et  veuve,'  yet  you  complain." 

As  she  spoke,  I  had  an  inspiration. 

"Margaret!"  I  exclaimed.  "Let  us  come  to 
your  chateau,  and  lead  the  simple  life." 

Margaret  threw  up  both  hands  in  horrified  de 
nial. 

"You  !  Twenty  miles  from  a  porcelain  tub  and 
a  Marcel  wave.  Out  upon  you  !" 

But  the  idea  had  seized  upon  my  imagination, 
3 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

and  I  had  early  acquired  the  art  of  getting  my 
own  way. 

"You  dear  old  Margaret,"  I  wheedled,  "you 
mustn't  refuse.  I'll  be  so  good!  If  we  are  a 
nuisance,  you  can  send  us  away." 

My  intelligent  friend  shook  her  head. 

"You  would  be  having  smart  people  out  from 
Paris;  you'd  want  to  furbish  things  up  and  give 
dinner  parties." 

But  I  waved  aside  such  feeble  objections. 

"It  is  no  use,"  I  laughed,  "for  I'm  coming. 
We'll  pay  our  share  strictly,  and  I  promise  to  be 
have  like  a  Quaker  from  Philadelphia.  But  good 
gracious!  There  is  Lillian!  I  forgot  all  about 
her." 

"Who  and  what  is  Lillian?" 

"She  is  my  cousin,  a  charming  young  girl  from 
Bridgeport,  Massachusetts.  She  is  an  orphan, 
and  has  been  brought  up  by  a  step-aunt  who  has 
white  eyelashes,  a  thin,  red  nose  and  a  thin,  red 
temper.  Lillian  is  a  dear,  but  Bridgeport  and 
Browning  Clubs  were  rapidly  turning  her  into 
dry-rot.  So  I  brought  her  over  here  to  see  some 
thing  of  'the  world,  the  flesh  and  the  devil.' 
While  she  dutifully  tries  to  enjoy  herself,  she  is  a 

4 


The    HOUSE    and    the    GABBLERS 

square  peg  in  a  round  hole.  She  won't  wear  cor 
sets,  and  considers  a  powder-puff  synonymous 
with — vice!" 

"What  a  combination,  you  and  she!  "  laughed 
Margaret. 

"Lillian  will  consider  your  chateau  as  a  provi 
dential  escape  from  the  Powers  of  Evil.  Yes ! 
we  will  come,  and  my  little  maid,  Henriette,  shall 
help  with  housework.  With  her  waist  of  seven 
teen  inches,  and  the  face  of  a  wax  doll,  my  life 
has  been  made  a  burden,  because  every  male  me 
nial  pursued  her.  Yes!  your  hospitable  roof  will 
prove  our  haven." 

Margaret  fell  back  in  her  chair,  despairing 
resignation  depicted  on  her  countenance. 

'  You  speak  of  my  hospitable  roof.  It  isn't 
mine,  and  I  am  not  aware  of  having  urged  you, 
your  cousin  and  your  maid  to  come.  But  you 
know  I  love  you  too  dearly  to  refuse.  If  you  can 
stand  it  I  can.  The  countess  told  me  to  fill  the 
house  if  I  liked." 

"So  it  is  agreed!"  I  cried,  clapping  my 
hands.  "When  do  we  go,  and  how  do  we  get 
there?" 

"Don't  gallop,  my  dear.    Am  not  there  myself 

2  5 


The  HOUSE  of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

yet.  The  house  has  to  be  cleaned  and  provisions 
ordered." 

"Have  you  servants?" 

"Two.  Cook  and  chambermaid.  The  former 
is  a  treasure,  Hildegarde  by  name,  German  by 
birth." 

"Had  she  good  references?" 

"References!"  Margaret  looked  dazed.  "I 
never  thought  of  references.  She  has  a  good 
face,  doesn't  want  beer,  and  can  make  American 
doughnuts." 

"And  you  don't  know  one  single  thing  about 
her?" 

"Of  course  not.  What  should  I  know  of  a 
young  woman  from  Bruenundend,  Ger 
many?  She  doesn't  know  anything  about  us, 
either." 

"Well,  I  hope  she  won't  murder  us  in  our  beds. 
How  about  the  housemaid?" 

"She  is  the  postman's  niece,  Marie  by  name, 
and  a  bit  fat,  but  not  inexperienced,  having  be 
gun  as  femme  de  chambre,  at  the  age  of  ten,  to 
the  —  cow!" 

"That  sounds  promising,"  I  said.  "She  should 
have  acquired  some  milk  of  human  kindness,  at 

6 


The    HOUSE    and    the    GABBLERS 

least.  But  I  want  to  help  do  things.  Let  me  at 
tend  to  ordering  groceries." 

"Very  well.  I'll  leave  that  to  you.  Don't  for 
get  salt,  or  that  we  are  miles  from  a  lemon." 

A  couple  of  hours  later  I  broached  the  subject 
of  our  changed  plans  to  Lillian  and  Henriette.  I 
found  the  former  writing  her  diary  conscientiously 
in  my  salon,  a  vision  of  slender  grace  in  her  din 
ner  gown.  Her  blond  head,  in  the  lamplight, 
was  that  of  a  smartly  coiffed  saint.  A  look  of 
unfeigned  and  joyful  relief  gladdened  her  up 
turned  face  at  the  news. 

"How  perfect!"  she  cried,  "to  get  away  from 
these  horrid  Latins  and  their  silly  little  excite 
ments." 

Henriette  paled  with  the  shock. 

"It  will  ruin  Madame's  complexion!"  she 
wailed.  "And  what  shall  we  do  with  Madame's 
new  and  ravishing  toilettes?" 

I  locked  her  out,  and  Lillian  and  I  fell  to  work 
on  the  grocery  list.  She  showed  a  knowledge 
worthy  of  her  Massachusetts  training.  We  made 
a  list  of  edibles  fit  to  stock  an  hotel,  and  then 
trembled  for  fear  that  essentials  were  forgotten. 

The  following  Thursday  we  met  Margaret  at 
7 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

the  Gare  du  Nord.  She  was  guarded  by  the 
"Treasure,"  whose  honest,  intelligent  face  ex 
plained  Margaret's  indifference  regarding  refer 
ences.  Truth  to  tell,  she  looked  so  superior,  one 
doubted  her  capacity  as  a  cook. 

As  we  got  our  tickets,  Lillian  suddenly  turned 
to  me. 

"Did  you  remember  the  candles?" 

I  stared  at  her  with  horror.  "Candles!"  The 
blood  dyed  my  face  as  I  felt  their  eyes  upon  me. 
I  could  have  cried  with  mortification,  having 
tried  so  hard  to  prove  myself  practical  and  effi 
cient. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Margaret  kindly,  "we  can 
see  by  firelight." 

As  she  spoke  I  saw  her  face  slowly  change  to 
an  expression  of  horror.  Her  lips  parted,  but  no 
word  came. 

"What  is  it?"  I  cried,  fear  clutching  my 
heart. 

Margaret  turned  a  hunted  gaze  upon  us. 

"The  coal!"  she  gasped.     "I  forgot  it." 

We  stood  there,  gaping  at  each  other.  We 
were  to  be  without  light  or  fire.  What  was  to  be 
done?  Then  the  "Treasure"  spoke,  and  we  lis- 

8 


The    HOUSE    and    the    GABBLERS 

tened  to  the  first  of  many  words  of  wisdom  des 
tined  to  fall  from  her  lips. 

"It  matters  not.  If  Madame  will  permit,  I 
will  'phone  from  here  to  have  them  sent  out  to 
morrow,  and  for  to-night  I  will  break  up  gro 
cery  cases  for  fuel,  and  for  lights  I  will  place  bits 
of  cotton  in  salad  oil." 

Margaret  sighed  with  relief,  and  gazed  at  us 
with  pride,  as  though  to  say: 

"I  may  have  forgotten  coal,  but  have  I  not  sup 
plied  my  household  with  what  is  above  rubies?" 

After  an  hour's  ride  through  rain-soaked  coun 
try,  Margaret  announced  that  we  were — "there  !" 
On  a  soggy  platform,  two  officials  loomed,  evi 
dently  amazed  that  the  strangers  from  the  pays 
sauvage  were  not  attired  in  paint  and  feathers. 
At  the  further  end,  piled  mountain-high,  were  our 
trunks,  barrels,  boxes,  surmounted  by  Margaret's 
parrot,  Aristotle,  in  his  cage,  screaming,  "Go  to 
the  devil!"  rapidly  and  with  eloquence.  Hilde- 
garde,  by  some  occult  power,  animated  the  offi 
cials,  and  directed  their  efforts  toward  the  trans 
ference  of  ourselves  and  chattels  to  the  wagons 
and  carriages  on  the  further  side  of  the  station. 

These  "carriages"  proved  to  be  surprising 
9 


The  HOUSE  of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

vehicles  of  extraordinary  height,  mounted  on  two 
wheels,  and  covered  by  what  looked  like  gigantic 
clothes-baskets  turned  upside  down.  Only  one 
step  intervened  between  ground  and  seats,  and  as 
I  stood  hesitating,  wondering  if  wings  were  sup 
plied  with  this  conveyance,  I  found  myself 
grasped  by  mighty  arms  and  thrust  into  the 
black  cavern  of  its  interior.  Alwyn  shinned  up 
the  dashboard,  and  Margaret  followed  without 
aid,  being  naturally  lofty  physically  as  morally. 
Hildegarde  disappeared  into  the  other  wheeled 
cavern  with  Henriette,  the  parrot,  and  other 
odds  and  ends. 

Off  we  went.  Never  will  that  drive  fade  from 
my  memory — the  bone-racking  jolts;  the  fresh 
sweetness  of  the  rain-wet  air;  the  mystery  and 
beauty  of  gray  skies,  misty  spaces  of  glade,  and 
massy  wood  which  filled  the  horizon.  For  three 
miles  we  rattled  along  the  stone-paved  "Route 
Nationale,"  bordered  by  its  usual  mathematically 
planted  trees.  Then  suddenly  we  turned  and 
plunged  into  a  narrow  road  which  appeared  to  be 
a  succession  of  pits  and  swamps.  Dense  woods 
were  on  either  side,  their  branches  whipping  our 
reversed  clothes-baskets  as  we  wobbled  and  jog- 

10 


The    HOUSE    and    the    GABBLERS 

gled  along.  Then  out  again  on  a  road  worthy  of 
Hyde  Park,  winding  through  peaceful  fields,  un- 
fenced  and  cultivated  like  one  vast  garden.  At 
last,  in  the  twilight,  lights  glimmered,  and  Mar 
garet  again  announced  that  we  were — "there!" 

I  craned  my  neck  for  a  glimpse  of  the  chateau. 
We  were  rattling  down  a  narrow,  cobbled  street, 
between  two  rows  of  ugly,  little  gray  houses. 
Not  a  flower  or  bit  of  garden  brightened  their 
sordidness. 

"We  can't  be — there,"  I  cried.  "Where  is 
your  chateau?" 

"But  we  are!"  Margaret  insisted,  as  we 
stopped  before  a  long  stone  wall  and  a  worm- 
eaten  plank  gate  set  in  an  arch.  My  heart 
dropped  down  into  my  boots  with  a  thump.  Our 
driver  descended  with  elephantine  dignity  and 
battered  at  the  gate,  which  presently  opened  in 
ward.  A  tall,  thin  figure  flattened  itself  against 
the  wall  as  we  lurched  through,  his  wooden 
sabots  clattering  after,  as  we  passed  into  a  great, 
stone-paved  court,  where  giant  trees  loomed. 
Dim  walls  surrounded  it  on  three  sides.  Friendly 
lights  twinkled  from  the  lower  stories. 

"Candles!"  I  murmured  in  Margaret's  ear  as 

n 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

a  door  on  the  left  flew  open,  glimpsing  a  huge 
kitchen,  where  copper  pans  glowed  from  white 
walls,  and  crowding  faces  filled  the  doorway. 

"Who  are  all  those  people?"  I  demanded. 

"Goodness  knows;  I  don't,"  Margaret  re 
plied,  as  we  climbed  stiffly  down  into  the  circle 
of  light. 

I  recognized  the  former  "femme  de  chambre 
to  the  cow"  immediately,  short,  fresh-cheeked, 
in  white  cap  and  apron,  who  stolidly  removed 
packages  from  our  hands  as  though  we  were  in 
competent  children.  She  was  the  only  one  who 
kept  her  mouth  shut.  Then  a  slender  figure,  de 
corously  clad  in  a  black  frock-coat,  detached  it 
self  and  came  forward,  bowing  with  perfect 
courtesy. 

"I  beg  leave  to  present  myself,  Mesdames— 
Monsieur    Leamau,    the    schoolmaster.       I    live 
across  the  way,  and  this  is  my  wife.     We  thought 
we  might  be  of  some  use  at  so  eventful  a  mo 
ment,  and  pray  you  to  command  us." 

We  expressed  our  thanks,  and  then  the  others 
were  presented:  the  postmaster  and  his  wife;  a 
Madame  Philon,  whose  social  status  remained  un 
explained;  the  gardener,  Isidore,  his  wife,  and 

12 


The    HOUSE    and    the    GABBLERS 

three  sons,  with  faces  like  intelligent  weasels. 
Isidore  was  plainly  a  person  of  distinction,  hav 
ing  been  sole  resident  of  the  domain  for  thirty 
years,  and  as  much  a  part  of  the  chateau  as  its 
roofs  and  chimneys.  Authority  was  written  on 
his  brow,  and  wisdom  gleamed  from  his  little 
black  eyes.  Our  guests  finally  departed  with 
many  protestations  of  welcome,  and  we  entered 
the  house  by  a  door  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
court. 

The  rain  had  ceased,  and  a  faint  moon  silvered 
the  gray  walls,  over  which  rose-vines  clambered 
to  the  eaves.  The  architecture  was  noble  in  its 
simplicity.  On  one  side  the  belfry  of  the  private 
chapel  shot  its  slender  length  into  the  deep  vault 
above,  swathed  in  wistaria  bloom. 

We  entered  the  hall,  paved  with  black  and 
white  marble,  which  Alwyn  announced  excellent 
for  "hop-scotch."  Armored  figures  filled  the  cor 
ners,  and  splendid  tapestries  covered  the  walls. 
At  the  opposite  end  a  double  door  opened  on  the 
"perron,"  from  which  a  double,  stone  staircase 
descended  to  the  park.  Curiosity  urged  us  to  at 
once  investigate  the  house,  but  beauty  held  us  si 
lent  on  the  perron. 

13 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

Before  us  lay  a  lawn  of  many  acres  sloping  to 
ward  a  dark  belt  of  wood.  Peace  brooded  there 
with  folded  wings.  One  felt  the  glory  of  tradi 
tion;  the  richness  of  association  which  breathed, 
a  living  presence  there,  where  others  had  lived 
and  passed  on,  for  many  generations. 

Margaret's  arm  lay  about  my  shoulder,  and 
her  quiet  voice  broke  the  spell  of  silence. 

"You  have  sighed  for  peace,  dear.  You  find 
it  here." 

"It  certainly  is  here,"  I  replied.  "We  are  at 
last  in  a  corner  of  the  world  where  nothing  has 
happened  for  a  hundred  years,  or  will  happen  for 
many  more.  We  will  live  sane  lives,  without 
events  or  emotions.  We  will  rise  and  lie  down 
in  calmness  of  spirit,  and  the  days  will  glide  by 
tranquilly  as  yonder  cloud  across  the  moon,  un 
disturbed  by  the  clang  of  the  world." 

Thus  did  I  blindly  prophesy. 

"A  propos  of  clangs,"  said  Margaret,  rudely 
interrupting  my  poetic  flight,  "there  seems  to  be 
considerable  somewhere  within.  Perhaps  we  had 
better  investigate." 

We  followed  the  sound  of  hammers  through 
the  hall,  and  down  a  long  corridor  to  a  room  op- 


Lillian,  with  a  sheet  draped  about  her  elegant  person 
checked  off  lists   with  practical   efficiency." 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

posite  the  kitchen,  whence  issued  the  clatter.  We 
found  Isidore  knocking  staves  off  barrels  with 
Titanic  fury,  while  Hildegarde,  with  her  hat 
cocked  over  one  eye,  heaped  bedding,  groceries, 
pots  and  pans  in  piles  for  distribution.  Lillian, 
with  a  sheet  draped  about  her  elegant  person, 
and  bits  of  excelsior  clinging  to  her  hair,  checked 
off  lists  with  practical  efficiency. 

Linen  and  blankets  were  thrust  upon  us,  and 
one  of  the  boys  led  the  way  upstairs  with  a  bit  of 
candle,  stuck  in  a  bottle. 

Oh !  those  rooms,  where  "old  faces  glimmered 
through  the  doors,  old  footsteps  trod  the  upper 
floors!"  I  couldn't  bring  myself  to  decide  in 
which  one  to  sleep.  Alwyn  recalled  the  example 
of  the  "Three  Bears,"  and  suggested  trying  each 
in  turn;  but  Margaret,  having  decided  on  rooms 
above  the  perron,  facing  the  park,  Alwyn  and  I 
settled  on  a  suite  at  the  end,  whose  windows 
opened  on  the  "Linden  Walk,"  a  wonderful  ave 
nue  of  trees  like  an  endless  Gothic  arch,  which 
led  from  the  house  into  mystery  beyond.  The 
bed  in  my  room  was  in  an  alcove  on  a  dais,  with 
a  dear  fence  around  it,  and  a  gate  by  which  to 
enter.  The  walls  were  of  exquisitely  carved  oak, 

16 


The    HOUSE    and    the    GABBLERS 

painted  white,  and  the  parquet  floor  was  mellow 
with  age.  Between  my  room  and  Alwyn's  was  a 
round  hole  cut  through  the  wall,  without  glass  or 
curtain,  which  puzzled  us,  until  Margaret  ex 
plained  the  mystery;  that  it  was  to  pass  one's 
head  through  to  be  powdered  on  the  other  side, 
that  one's  clothes  might  not  be  powdered,  also. 
Beyond,  in  Lillian's  room,  we  found  the  same 
contrivance. 

For  Alwyn's  bed,  Hildegarde  discovered  in  the 
granary  (as  chateau  attics  are  called)  an  ador 
able  crib,  with  angels  two  feet  high  at  the  cor 
ners. 

At  last  the  upper  rooms  were  in  a  semblance  of 
order,  and  we  became  conscious  of  appetites  and 
that  housework  was  more  conducive  to  hunger 
than  a  ten-mile  canter.  So  we  descended  to  set 
the  table.  The  dining-room  ran  the  full  width 
of  the  house,  one  end  opening  on  the  court,  the 
other  toward  the  park,  a  vision  of  beauty  on 
either  hand.  A  splendid  golden  Buddha  filled 
one  corner  of  the  room,  his  enigmatical  eyes  fol 
lowing  our  movements  as  though  in  contemptu 
ous  pity  for  such  enthusiasm. 

Our  first  meal  was  enjoyed  with  gusto,  in  spite 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

of  the  fact  that  Marie  knew  as  little  of  serving 
as  she  did  of  Greek.  Afterward  we  investigated 
the  salons:  one,  a  superb  room,  fully  forty  feet 
square,  facing  the  Linden  Walk.  Its  walls  were 
of  white,  carved  oak;  its  huge  fireplace  looked 
like  a  cavern.  As  Margaret  said,  "It  was  all  of 
noble  lines." 

"But  we  can't  sit  down  on  noble  lines,"  I  re 
marked,  as  it  dawned  upon  us  that  the  room  con 
tained  nothing  but  a  magnificent  crystal  chande 
lier  and  some  flower-pots.  Margaret  ran  to  the 
window  and  peered  out. 

"Yes!  it  is  north!"  she  cried.  "This  shall 
be  my  studio,  and  the  Immortals  shall  descend  to 
my  canvas  here,  from  Olympus." 

Alwyn  shouted  with  glee :  "And  I'll  roller- 
skate  while  you  paint." 

At  last  it  was  bedtime,  and  we  mounted  to  our 
rooms,  to  find  them  brilliantly  illuminated  with 
candles.  Isidore,  busy  unstrapping  trunks,  ex 
plained  that  they  were  the  gift  of  Madame 
Philon. 

"Who  is  Madame  Philon?"  asked  Lillian. 

Isidore  appeared  somewhat  embarrassed,  but 
explained  that  she  was  the  wife  of  the  Mayor's 

18 


"  'And    I'll    roller-skate    while    you    paint.' " 

head  farmer,  adding  that  she  had  no  personal 
occupation. 

"A  Mayor!"  I  exclaimed. 

"But  yes,  Madame;  of  an  excellence — !  He 
and  his  wife  live  against  the  corner  of  your  park 
walls.  They  are  very  rich — of  millions!" 

"What  disaster!"  sighed  Margaret.  "We 
don't  want  anyone  like  that  around.  We'll  have 
to  live  up  to  'em.  What  does  the  Mayoress  think 
of  our  advent?" 

19 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

Isidore  hesitated. 

"Not  meaning  to  be  bold,  Madame,  she  fancies 
Americans  are  savage,  and  has  had  double  locks 
put  on  all  their  doors  and  windows.  The  May 
or's  wife  is  a  severe  and  proper  person,  being 
of  so  exalted  a  position,  and  most  pious.  The 
Mayor,  he  is  of  a  more  lively  taste,  and  has  re 
spect  for  but  two  things — his  God  and  his  honor 
able  wife." 

With  bows  worthy  of  Chesterfield,  Isidore 
backed  from  the  room.  The  vision  of  this  per 
fect  Mayoress  had  dampened  our  spirits,  and  we 
bade  one  another  good-night  with  chastened 
spirits. 

Alwyn,  who  should  have  been  in  bed  long  be 
fore,  was  still  very  much  awake,  and  when  his 
"nightie"  had  been  buttoned,  climbed  to  my  lap. 
We  put  out  the  candles  and  sat  before  the  open 
window.  We  were  so  near,  so  dear,  each  to  the 
other.  That  inner  life,  which  is  hidden  in  the 
sanctuary  of  every  one's  soul,  was  only  shared 
with  each  other. 

We  sat  in  silence,  listening  to  mysterious  voices 
of  the  night.  At  the  foot  of  the  lawn  lay  the 
forest,  massy  purple  against  the  star-strewn  can- 

20 


The    HOUSE    and    the    GABBLERS 

opy  of  sky — a  region  of  alluring  mystery,  where 
wild  creatures  prowled,  birds  slept  among  shad 
ows,  and  leaves  rested  motionless  in  moonlit 
glades.  In  the  deep  vault  above,  the  moon  was 
dropping  down  over  the  edge  of  the  world.  It 
seemed  as  though  we  had  reached  another  planet, 
hung  far  in  space,  a  place  of  arrested  movement 
and  tranquil  joys.  Something  rose  in  my  heart 
and  stretched  its  wings.  Liberty  beckoned  my 
tired  spirit  to  leave  hampering  conditions  for 
wider  life,  where  convention  no  longer  restricted, 
and  ideals  became  realized. 

The  brown  head  had  grown  heavy.  Tired  eye 
lids  were  closed.  I  carried  my  precious  burden 
to  the  bed  where  the  carved  angels  kept  watch 
above  innocent  slumber.  A  benison  seemed  to 
breathe  forth  in  the  silence.  I  knelt  with  my 
cheek  against  the  childish  hand  and  mutely 
aspired  toward  that  Presence  which  hallowed  the 
quiet  room. 


CHAPTER  II 

MAID  TO  ORDER 

THAT  "Dear"  should  never  be  awakened, 
unless    for    serious    reasons,    was    a    law 
which  Alwyn  had  been  trained  to  observe, 
but  with  a  joyous  summer  world  beckoning,  and 
a  riot  of  color,  scent  and  sound  outside,  my  son's 
self-control  had  evidently  vanished.      I  was   far 
away  in  dreamland  when  I  heard  a  small  voice 
talking  not  to  but  at  me,  and  hazily  recognized 
garbled  quotations  from  the  "Sleeping  Beauty." 
"Behold,  how  she  is  fair!"  my  son  was  mur 
muring  impersonally.      "How  still  she  lies,   and 
yet  methinks  life  hides  beneath  those  lids.     I  love 
her!     Her  lips  will  I  kiss  to  learn  if  she  be  living 
beauty  or  a  fleeting  vision." 

I  opened  my  eyes  cautiously.  My  small  son, 
with  tangled  hair,  was  standing  by  my  bed,  au 
dacity,  mischief,  and  fear  depicted  on  his  coun 
tenance,  as  he  bent  gently  forward  and  laid  his 
lips  against  my  hand.  I  laughed,  as  he  meant  I 

22 


MAID    to    ORDER 


should,  and  together  we  ran  to  the  window  and 
leaned  out.  ' 

Such  a  world !  The  sunshine  lay  in  golden 
shafts  across  the  lawn.  In  the  green  depths  of 
the  Linden  Walk  birds  made  such  a  racket  that 
one  wondered  whether  they  could  possibly  under 
stand  one  another.  By  the  sun  dial  Lillian  was 
standing,  fair  as  the  morning,  her  wonderful  hair 
in  two  golden  plaits  to  her  knees. 

"You  lazy  creatures!"  she  called.  "Hurry,  or 
you'll  be  late." 

"Late!  Late  for  what?  Have  you  forgotten 
that  time  stands  still  here  and  that  nothing  can 
happen?" 

"But  things  are  happening.  Margaret  has 
just  received  a  telegram  from  some  man  asking 
if  he  can't  spend  to-night  here." 

"Of  course  she  wired  he  couldn't  come,"  I  said. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Margaret,  poking  her 
head  out  of  her  studio  window  below  me.  "He 
is  a  dear  pal  of  mine,  just  back  from  Egypt,  and 
a  rattling  good  sort,  Lord  Ashburne." 

I  stared  down  at  her,  bewildered. 

"Not  the  author  and  former  Ambassador  to 
France?  Are  you  mad?  One  of  the  smartest 

23 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

men  in  England,  with  country  houses  which  would 
make  this  look  like  a  hen-coop." 

"I'm  not  mad,"  said  Margaret  indignantly, 
"and  it  isn't  his  fault  that  he  is  distinguished." 

"It  is  going  to  be  fun,"  said  Lillian. 

Margaret  shook  her  mahl-stick  up  at  me. 

"Just  hurry  and  dress.  We'll  breakfast  under 
the  trees,  and  discuss  matters.  It  gives  me  a 
crick  in  the  neck  to  talk  from  here." 

We  were  soon  under  a  giant  oak,  and  while 
bees  devoured  our  honey,  quite  unembarrassed  by 
our  proximity,  we  thrashed  out  the  subject. 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  Lillian,  "I  mean  beside 
being  a  diplomat  and  author?" 

"He  is  the  strongest  man  morally,  mentally, 
and  physically,"  said  Margaret,  "I  ever  knew; 
and  the  best-looking,  without  possessing  actual 
beauty." 

I  laughed. 

"How  like  you !  That  is  all  you  care  as  to 
'who'  a  man  may  be.  I  will  give  particulars,  as 
I  know  his  sister  rather  well,  Lady  Gorset.  I 
never  happened  to  meet  him." 

"Is  he  old  or  young?"  asked  Lillian. 
'  Just  between  the  two,  I  believe.    His  name  is 
24 


MAID    to    ORDER 


Robert  Kerr  Ashburne,  eldest  son  of  the  old  Earl 
of  Boughton,  who  gained  world-wide  distinction 
as  an  astronomer.  His  mother  was  the  famous 
wit  and  beauty,  Countess  de  Polinac,  a  French 
woman,  through  whom  he  is  related  to  the  best 
blood  in  France.  They  say  her  Memoirs  will, 
one  day,  make  interesting  reading,  as  she  knew 
all  that  was  distinguished  as  well  as  naughty  and 
nice  in  Europe.  Ashburne  was  her  third  son. 
The  two  elder  were  lost  under  most  tragic  cir 
cumstances,  while  yachting  in  the  Dardanelles. 
Before  their  death  he  had  begun  to  make  a  bril 
liant  record  for  himself,  and  it  is  to  his  credit  that 
his  succession  has  not  pruned  his  ambitions." 

"Has  he  a  wife?"  asked  Lillian. 

"No!"  said  Margaret.  "Been  too  busy.  He 
contested  the  Newton  Division,  in  Conservative 
interests,  for  Middlesex,  and  won.  Then  he  en 
tered  Diplomacy,  and  has  climbed  steadily  to  the 
front  rank.  Of  course,  when  his  old  father  dies 
Ashburne  may  retire  and  go  in  for  home  politics 
again.  He  is  an  authority  on  Eastern  questions, 
and  one  day  may  be  Viceroy." 

"His  sister,"  I  said,  "is  a  dear.  She  endeavors 
to  be  extremely  American,  and  can  tell  a  negro 

25 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

dialect  story  like  a  Georgian.  I  stopped  in  the 
same  house-party  with  her  two  years  ago  in  Dev 
onshire,  and  she  ran  the  whole  thing.  She  got 
my  maid  to  show  hers  how  I  did  my  hair,  and 
the  change  from  a  bath  bun  made  her  so  adorably 
pretty  that  our  host  fell  in  love  with  such  ardor 
that  she  had  to  get  herself  telegraphed  for,  and 
fled." 

"That  was  the  surest  method  of  making  him 
run  after  her,"  said  Margaret.  "Lady  Corset 
evidently  is  skilled  in  such  matters." 

"Does  Ashburne  share  his  sister's  accomplish 
ments  in  that  line?"  I  asked. 

"I  fear  he  regards  women  as  charming  impedi 
ments  to  serious  living,"  Margaret  replied. 

"Where  did  you  meet  him?"  asked  Lillian. 

"In  India,  four  years  ago." 

"Who  introduced  you?"  I  asked.  "I  heard  he 
rather  avoided  women." 

"A  bomb  introduced  us,  and  he  certainly  didn't 
avoid  me,  as  he  nearly  knocked  me  down.  It  was 
about  two  in  the  morning,  in  the  jungle,  and  he 
had  nothing  on  but  pajamas." 

"Margaret!  How  scandalous!  Do  be  less 
enigmatical." 

26 


MAID    to    ORDER 


"Anarchists  tried  to  blow  up  the  Governor 
General,"  said  Margaret  laconically.  "No  one 
outside  of  Government  House  knew  he  was  on 
our  train.  We  were  about  ninety  miles  from 
Kharpur,  when  we  heard  a  report  like  thunder, 
followed  by  crashing  glass  and  splintering  wood. 
I  found  myself  lying  on  the  ceiling  of  our  carriage. 
Then  someone  pulled  me  through  a  window  by 
my  left  leg,  which  has  seemed  longer  than  my 
right  ever  since,  for  it  was  a  tight  squeeze." 

"Where  did  the  hero  come  in?"  asked  Lil 
lian. 

"Right  then  and  there.  He  came  running  along, 
carrying  a  child,  which  he  thrust  into  my  arms. 
He  rushed  on.  The  child  was  dead.  I  laid  it 
on  the  bank  and  followed.  There  he  was,  axe  in 
hand,  directing,  consoling,  working  with  the  in 
telligence  and  strength  of  ten." 

"What  did  you  do?" 

"What  the  others  did — obeyed  him.  He  was 
tender  and  stern  in  one  breath.  He  fought  Death 
hand  to  hand,  till  the  last  living  creature  had  been 
gotten  out." 

"But  what  became  of  you  all,  stranded  there  in 
the  wilderness?" 

27 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

"Ah!  that  is  the  story,"  said  Margaret.  "The 
native  engineer  had  fled  into  the  jungle.  There 
was  no  one  to  take  his  place,  for  the  boiler  was  in 
momentary  danger  of  exploding.  It  meant  al 
most  certain  death  to  anyone  who  drove  it." 

"And  so — "  said  Lillian,  with  parted  lips. 

"Bud  made  two  men  uncouple  the  engine  and 
climbed  to  the  cab.  Then  we  realized  what  he 
meant  to  do.  The  others  just ' 

"They  didn't  let  him  go  alone,"  I  cried. 

"Not  a  man  moved.  I  see  him  now,  begrimed, 
bare  feet  firmly  planted,  as  he  opened  the  throt 
tle.  The  battered  thing  moved  away  into  the 
night.  No  one  knew  where,  on  that  lonely  track, 
Death  would  overtake  him." 

"But  he  came  back?" 

"At  dawn  we  heard  the  whistle  of  the  relief 
train.  Some  had  died  before  it  came,  and 
others " 

Margaret  paused.     Her  strong  lips  trembled. 

"Do  you  wonder,"  she  said  at  last,  "that  I'm 
fond  of  Bud?" 

No  one  spoke  for  a  moment. 

"And  so,"  she  said,  "our  friendship  was  born. 
We  have  never  lost  touch.  He  is  one  of  the  few 

28 


MAID    to    ORDER 


men  for  whom  I  have  unbounded  respect  and  af 
fection." 

She  went  on  to  explain  that  this  Englishman 
was  thus  apt  to  descend  upon  her  at  unexpected 
times.  When  I  pointed  out  the  inadequacy  of 
our  arrangements,  Margaret  laughed  me  to  scorn. 
As  he  had  slept  in  the  desert  and  eaten  from  tin 
plates  with  his  fingers,  in  primeval  forests,  she 
failed  to  see  why  our  new  sheets  from  the  Bon 
Marche  and  Potin's  best  products  weren't  good 
enough  for  him. 

"Beside,"  she  added,  "Bud  wants  to  see  me, 
and  I  want  to  see  him." 

That  seemed  to  settle  it. 

Something  perverse  within  me  revolted  against 
this  hero — this  doer  of  doughty  deeds  who 
aroused  unbounded  respect  in  the  breast  of  my 
beloved  Margaret.  Undoubtedly  something  of 
a  prig,  after  all.  What  were  we  to  do  with  this 
godlike  individual?  Some  one  must  be  practical. 

"How  and  by  whom  is  dinner  to  be  served?" 
I  demanded.  "This  is  a  chateau  and  not  a  tent 
in  the  desert,  and  we  are  gentlewomen  and  not 
Zulus,  and  things  must  be  decent." 

We  looked  helplessly  at  each  other.  Then  a 
29 


The   HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

brilliant  idea  struck  an  illuminating  pathway 
through  my  brain. 

"I  shall  be  waitress!"  I  declared.  "He  has 
never  seen  me,  and  I  certainly  know  how  a  din 
ner  should  be  served.  I  can  wear  one  of  Hen- 
riette's  print  dresses,  a  cap  and  apron,  and  you'll 
see  that  dinner  float  on  and  off  that  table  with 
out  a  jar." 

"What  nonsense!"  said  Margaret.  "1  rely  on 
you  to  furnish  all  the  elegance." 

But  Lillian  clapped  her  hands. 

"Why  not?  Just  for  one  night.  If  you  had 
seen  her  in  private  theatricals,  you'd  never  de 
cline  the  offer.  We'll  get  rid  of  him  early  to 
morrow  morning,  and  it  will  save  the  situa 
tion." 

Margaret  voiced  other  objections,  from  which 
Lillian  and  I  fled  kitchenward.  Hildegarde  would, 
of  course,  arrange  details,  and  so  it  proved. 
The  Treasure  not  only  made  out  a  menu  fit  for 
gods,  but,  calling  Isidore,  wrung  from  him  his 
consent  to  act  as  butler  to  my  maid.  Her  diplo 
macy  was  masterly,  and  I  doubt  if  he  knows  to 
this  day  how  it  was  done.  But  the  fact  remains 
that  he  promised  to  shave  off  his  mustache,  deck 

3° 


MAID    to    ORDER 


his  bean-stalk  frame  in  the  borrowed  wedding 
suit  of  Manteuil's  one  policeman,  and  pour  the 
wine.  More  than  that,  even  the  Treasure's,  be 
guiling  failed  to  elicit,  but  I  felt  proficient  for 
the  rest. 

We  decided  to  say  nothing  more  to  Margaret, 
who  was  locked  in  her  studio.  Besides,  had  I  not 
promised  not  to  bother?  Bless  her  dear  heart! 
Her  brave  Englishman  should  feast  in  luxury  and 
be  sent  on  his  way  rejoicing,  with  a  new  respect 
for  his  hostess's  powers  as  a  housekeeper.  Of 
course,  that  day  I  had  to  lie  perdu,  for  our  guest 
had  failed  to  state  the  hour  of  his  arrival.  It 
seemed  safe,  however,  to  keep  to  the  front  of 
the  house,  as  the  opening  gate  and  cobbles  of  the 
court  would  furnish  ample  warning.  So  Alwyn 
and  I  hied  ourselves  to  an  enormous  hay-cock  on 
the  lawn,  against  which  he  placed  a  ladder.  Up 
this  we  climbed,  and  then  slid  down  the  other  side. 
This  novel  tobogganing  proved  delightful.  The 
scent  of  hay,  the  slippery  surface  and  blissful 
thought  that  one's  dignity  might  go  off  and  sit 
down  with  "prunes,  primes  and  prisms,"  made 
me  feel  young  again. 

We  were  whooping  and  sliding  in  full  career, 
31 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

when  a  shadow  fell  across  the  sunshine.  The  sky 
had  been  one  arch  of  Reckless  blue,  and  we  looked 
about  in  surprise.  Then  Alwyn  screamed: 

"Oh!     Oh!  a  monoplane!" 

We  had  just  reached  the  bottom  with  a  glori 
ous  swoop,  and  I,  too,  looked  up.  There,  circling 
above  us,  ever  narrowing  earthward,  was  a  mono 
plane,  its  compact  body  enclosing  the  figure  of  a 
man  as  a  web  holds  a  spider.  Then  a  clear  voice 
called: 

"I  say,  old  chap,  anybody  at  home?" 

The  machine  touched  the  lawn  and  ran  along 
on  its  rubber-tired  wheels,  fortunately  away  from 
where  we  stood  in  petrified  astonishment.  Then 
power  of  thought  and  motion  returned. 

"Don't  you  dare  tell  him  I'm  your  mother!" 
I  hissed  dramatically  in  Alwyn's  ear.  Picking  up 
my  skirts,  I  ran  toward  the  shrubbery  at  the  right 
of  the  house  as  though  the  very  fiends  were  at  my 
heels.  But  how  that  lawn  had  grown  !  It  seemed 
to  be  a  mile  wide.  Head  down,  the  blood  pound 
ing  in  my  ears,  I  pelted  on,  longing  to  look 
back  as  much  as  ever  did  Lot's  wife  to  the  City 
of  Gomorrah.  At  last  the  bushes  received  my 
disheveled  person  in  their  gracious  obscurity,  and, 

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turning,  I  peeped  out.  The  new  breed  of  bird 
and  my  son  were  walking  toward  the  house,  deep 
in  conversation. 

"Your  nurse  didn't  seem  to  like  my  looks,"  I 
heard  him  say  with  a  laugh. 

Alwyn  raised  indignant  eyes  to  the  bronzed 
face  above  him. 

"She  isn't  my  nurse  !"  he  began.  Then,  casting 
an  apprehensive  glance  toward  my  hiding-place, 
he  hurriedly  added:  "I'm  too  big  for  a  nurse.  I 
do  everything  for  myself,  but  my  ears  and  my 
collars." 

"I  beg  your  pardon!  Didn't  realize  for  a  mo 
ment  what  a  big  chap  you  were." 

He  ran  up  the  steps,  and,  finding  the  door 
open,  called:  "Margaret!  Margaret!"  I  heard 
her  glad  cry  of  welcome,  opening  and  closing 
doors,  and  then  silence.  There  was  nothing  to 
remind  one  that  our  quiet  world  had  been  in 
vaded  by  Bellerophon,  save  the  up-to-date  Pega 
sus  on  the  lawn. 

I  then  ran  on  through  the  "basse  cour,"  where 
chickens  fled  squawking  before  me,  and  up  to  my 
room.  I  called  Henriette,  and  our  united  efforts 
were  speedily  directed  toward  my  transformation 

33 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

into  a  maid.  Being  tall  and  slender,  the  girth  of 
the  print  dress  was  correct,  but  alas!  my  smart 
buckled  shoes  refused  to  be  hidden.  However, 
as  mere  man  rarely  sees  farther  than  a  woman's 
face,  if  it  be  fair,  especially  that  of  a  humble 
menial,  I  descended  to  the  lower  regions  in  calm 
security. 

We  made  the  table  a  picture  of  beauty,  with 
roses  laid  on  the  damask  between  shaded  candles. 
At  last  all  was  ready,  and  we  sent  for  Isidore. 
He  appeared,  pale,  but  heroic  devotion  depicted 
on  his  sallow  countenance.  His  mustache  was 
gone,  but  alas !  a  great  gash  across  one  cheek  was 
covered  with  a  strip  of  black  court-plaster.  He 
looked  like  a  brigand  fresh  from  combat.  The 
policeman's  wedding  suit,  redolent  of  moth-balls, 
was  carried,  like  a  baby,  in  unwrinkled  care  across 
his  arms.  We  commanded  him  to  dress.  A 
quarter  of  an  hour  passed  as  we  listened  to 
smothered  snorts  and  groans  from  the  store-room 
where  he  was  transforming  himself.  At  last  he 
issued  forth.  Alas!  The  policeman  must  have 
been  as  fat  as  a  Christmas  turkey,  for  the  clothes 
hung  about  Isidore's  attenuated  frame  like  a  flag 
on  a  pole  in  windless  air. 

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MAID    to    ORDER 


We  stood  about  him  despairing.  Then  the 
Treasure  spoke. 

"He  shall  have  a  stomach!"  she  announced, 
"though  it  be  not  his  own.  I  shall  stuff  him  out 
with  excelsior  from  the  packing  cases." 


"A  rotund  form  was  his,  over  which  his  glistening  shirt-front 
lay  rounded  like  a  pouter-pigeon." 

She  flew  to  the  cellar  and  brought  up  an  armful. 
I  modestly  withdrew  during  these  details  of  toi 
lette.  Fifteen  minutes  later  Isidore  appeared, 
hardly  to  be  recognized.  A  rotund  form  was  his, 
over  which  his  glistening  shirt-front  lay  rounded 
like  a  pouter-pigeon.  Except  for  his  hacked 
visage,  he  was  worthy  to  dignify  a  banquet  hall. 

35 


The  HOUSE  of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

Promptly  at  eight  we  prodded  him  toward  the 
salon,  where  the  others  were  waiting.  His  voice 
was  heard  solemnly  announcing  the  fact  that 
Madame  was  "served."  We  heard  a  smothered 
ejaculation  from  Margaret,  but  Lillian's  voice 
hurriedly  intervened,  and  they  filed  out  to  the 
dining-room. 

I  stood  modestly  by  the  door,  not  daring  to 
look  up  till  Isidore  handed  me  soup-plates;  but  as 
Lord  Ashburne,  of  course,  ignored  the  servants, 
my  self-possession  returned,  and  all  went  smooth 
ly.  At  last  I  could  take  a  look  at  our  guest, 
and  saw  a  square,  strongly-featured  face,  smooth 
shaven,  with  slightly  gray  hair  brushed  sleekly 
back  from  a  high  forehead.  Breeding  showed  in 
every  line.  It  was  the  face  of  a  man  who  had 
lived,  thought  and  felt,  but  who  still  cherished 
ideals.  He  was  tall  and  lean-flanked,  with  shoul 
ders  broader  than  his  hips.  His  tailor  must  have 
doted  on  that  splendid  frame;  erect,  flat-backed, 
deep-chested. 

He  and  Margaret  had  endless  reminiscences  to 
discuss.  The  talk  was  so  intelligent  and  interest 
ing  that  once  I  kept  Marie  waiting  in  the  corridor 
with  the  entree.  Isidore  poured  the  wine  with 

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MAID    to    ORDER 


stately  aplomb,  and  all  went  well,  until  suddenly 
I  noticed  Lillian's  eyes  fixed  wide  with  horror  on 
our  butler.  She  glanced  at  Ashburne.  He,  too, 
was  staring  at  Isidore  with  a  puzzled  smile,  while 
Margaret's  voice  rippled  glibly  on.  I  turned. 
The  salad  almost  fell  from  my  hands.  Our 
butler's  stomach  was  under  his  left  arm!  Where 
once  it  had  been,  his  shirt-front  caved  in  like  a 
lost  hope. 

He,  all  unconscious,  was  mincing  across  the 
room,  a  self-satisfied  smirk  on  his  brigandish 
countenance.  With  a  stifled  gasp  I  vanished  from 
the  room. 

But  how  to  get  Isidore  from  the  room  before 
his  "tummie"  wandered  round  to  his  back?  It  ap 
peared  to  be  as  fond  of  travel  as  our  guest.  The 
Treasure  brought  me  to  my  senses  by  recalling 
the  salad  to  my  notice.  Once  more  I  entered 
upon  the  scene  of  action.  With  the  dish  before 
our  guest,  I  noticed  a  sudden  arrested  movement 
of  his  sinewy  hands  as  they  dallied  with  the 
spoon.  He  seemed  to  be  intent  upon  something 
in  the  dish,  and  a  sickening  fear  of  smothered 
beetles,  or  other  unusual  condiment,  froze  me. 

But  in  a  moment  he  replaced  the  spoon  and 

4  37 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

proceeded  to  discuss  the  salad  and  the  subject  in 
hand  with  unembarrassed  suavity.  But,  as  I 
circled  the  table,  I  became  aware  of  a  pair  of  gray 
eyes  following  my  hands  tenaciously.  They 
seemed  to  penetrate,  cling,  and  absorb.  I 
glanced  down. 

There  above  my  wedding-ring  blazed  my  ca- 
bochon  diamond — matchless,  superb  !  And  my 
hands  themselves,  the  pride  of  Henriette's  mani 
curing  art!  Glancing  up,  I  met  those  keen  eyes, 
now  reading  my  face  like  an  open  book,  mischief 
in  their  depths.  But  his  face  was  smileless  as  he 
turned  to  Margaret. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "you  are  quite  right.  The 
American  woman  is  superficially  more  frank  than 
her  English  cousin,  but,  in  fact,  far  more  difficult 
to  understand.  Her  powers  of  audacity  are  more 
adroitly  concealed.  I  have  found  out  that  it  is 
unwise  to  trust  to  appearances." 

He  sent  me  a  direct  glance  across  the  rose- 
laden  table.  With  my  head  in  the  air  I  left  the 
room,  conscious  of  those  merciless  eyes  boring 
into  my  spinal  column  through  its  calico  cover 
ing.  How  I  longed  to  throw  something  at  that 
imperturbable  face ! 

38 


MAID    to    ORDER 


Isidore  should  serve  the  rest  of  the  dinner. 
Wild  horses  should  not  drag  me  again  into  that 
torture  chamber.  But  I  had  reckoned  without 
Isidore.  I  found  him  in  a  state  of  collapse,  with 
his  true  (rather  false)  inwardness  strewing  the 
kitchen  floor.  His  mortified  wrath  at  the  disaster 
had  caused  him  to  commit  hari-kari! 

With  crimson  cheeks  I  once  more  started  round 
that  table.  Lord  Ashburne  had  talked  himself  to 
silence.  To  save  my  life  I  could  not  refrain  from 
glancing  through  my  lashes  to  see  if  he  watched 
me,  and,  each  time,  I  found  his  eyes  intent  upon 
my  burning  visage.  Would  that  dinner  ever  end? 
At  last  they  rose  and  moved  toward  the  door. 
I  followed  with  the  coffee-tray.  On  the  threshold 
our  guest  paused. 

"Margaret,  will  you  do  me  the  honor  of  pre 
senting  me  to  this  lady?"  he  said. 

Margaret  murmured  our  names  incoher 
ently. 

"Of  course,"  said  he,  "this  pretty  comedy  is  a 
mystery.  You  see,"  he  said,  turning  directly  to 
me,  "I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  be 
fore.  It  was  at  a  ball  at  Buckingham  Palace  two 
years  ago.  You  went  out  to  supper  with  Mr. 

39 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

Esquith  and  sat  opposite.     It  is  not  possible  to 
forget  your  face." 

He  bowed  with  charming  deference.    His  smile 


"  'Margaret,  will  you  do  me  the  honor  of  presenting  me  to 
this  lady?'" 

was  so  merry  that  embarrassment  vanished.  He 
took  the  tray,  and  I  tossed  my  cap  to  Buddha,  as 
Margaret  led  the  way  to  the  perron.  The  night 
was  warm  and  still.  A  nightingale  sang  from 

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MAID    to    ORDER 


the  shrubbery,  and  frogs  croaked  in  the  pond  be 
yond  the  clump  of  firs. 

Ashburne  stretched  full  length  in  a  chaise 
longue  beside  Margaret,  with  his  hand  resting  on 
the  arm  of  her  chair. 

"You  are  sure  you  don't  need  a  wrap?"  he 
asked  her. 

She  shook  her  head,  and  lighted  his  cigarette 
for  him  from  the  jeweled  paraphernalia  attached 
to  her  gold  vanity  box. 

"Now  please  explain,"  he  pleaded.  "Were 
you  practicing  for  private  theatricals,  and  will 
you  tell  me  what  ailed  your  butler?" 

"It  was  all  in  your  honor,"  said  Lillian.  "We 
wanted  to  be  stylish,  and  feared  our  maid  might 
spill  soup  down  your  back." 

To  my  surprise  he  looked  hurt. 

"Margaret!  surely  you  were  not  in  the  plot? 
You,  at  least,  know  me  to  be  a  simple  soul,  whose 
main  object  in  life  is  to  escape  the  'frills'  of  this 
tiresome  world." 

I  suddenly  felt  ashamed  of  myself  and  my  ab 
surd  standards. 

"Pray  forgive  me,"  I  said.  "It  was  all  my 
fault.  But  it  was  not  personal  to  you  as  much  as 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

slavish  conformity  to  old  habits,  from  which  I  am 
here  to  learn  immunity.  In  our  new  world  we 
still  cling  to  externals." 

"And  so  you  come  to  an  old  civilization  to 
learn  simplicity?  That  seems  paradoxical.  Tell 
me,  what  sends  American  women  over  here  in 
such  numbers,  leaving  the  masculine  element  at 
home?" 

"Thirst  for  cultivation,"  said  Margaret. 

"Curiosity,"  said  Lillian. 

"For  rest  of  mind,  soul  and  body — and 
clothes !"  said  I. 

"But  surely  you  can  find  all  these  at  home,"  he 
replied. 

"Our  culture  is  skim  milk,"  said  Margaret. 
"The  cream  is  over  here." 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  curious  about  in  Amer 
ica,"  said  Lillian.  "Everything  has  just  hap 
pened,  just  been  made,  and  nothing  is  finished 
and  forgotten  but  the  Declaration  of  Independ 
ence." 

"There  is  a  still  more  potent  reason,"  said 
Margaret,  "cheapness,  which  appeals  to  the  aver 
age  feminine  soul.  It  is  like  a  constant  'bargain 
counter'  over  here,  with  an  ease  of  life,  a  grace, 

42 


MAID    to    ORDER 


a  charm,  thrown  in  free  of  charge,  which  is  un 
known  in  America." 

"Granted,"  said  I,  "but  there  is  still  another 
reason.  Balzac  was  right  when  he  declared  every 
woman  an  aristocrat  at  heart.  At  home  men 
shout,  'All  men  are  equal,'  but  you  may  have  no 
ticed  that  women  are  not  mentioned,  nor  do  they 
join  in  so  foolish  a  statement.  Those  who  are 
born  to  position,  being  often  descended  from  the 
best  blood  of  Europe,  resent  those  who  scramble 
and  fight  their  way  to  the  front  rank  of  society 
through  sheer  force  of  money.  In  my  mother's 
day  New  York  society  was  composed  of  a  group 
of  dignified,  self-contained  people,  many  of  them 
rich,  who  lived  delightfully  and  entertained  with 
hospitality,  not  ostentation.  To-day  many  of 
their  children  are,  of  course,  still  in  society,  but 
the  greater  part  are  swamped  in  the  deluge  of 
those  who  hurtle  through  the  social  firmament  like 
comets,  spreading  a  tail  of  gold  in  their  wake. 
A  comet  undoubtedly  presents  a  fine  spectacle,  but 
it  is  rarely  agreeable  to  modest  stars  in  its  path 
way." 

"But  one  hears,"  said  our  guest,  "that  class  dis 
tinctions  are  far  more  considered  in  America  than 

43 


The   HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

with  us.  In  London,  nowadays,  anyone  who  can 
bring  to  society  beauty,  charm,  wit,  or  even  agree 
able  manners,  is  welcomed,  and  no  one  stops  to 
look  up  his  antecedents,  especially  if  he  has  a 
plethoric  bank  account." 

I  laughed. 

"You  are  quite  right.  We  are  the  biggest 
snobs  on  earth.  Those  who  have  'grandfathers' 
cling  to  and  flaunt  them,  just  as  though  anyone 
cared!  Here,  for  instance,  is  Lillian,  proud  of 
being  a  'Colonial  Dame'  and  a  'Daughter  of  the 
Revolution.'  She  also  has  a  firm  belief  that  those 
who  are  born  in  Boston  do  not  need  to  'be  born 
again  to  enter  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven.'  I  am  a 
member  of  that  honorable  company,  too,  but 
bless  you!  after  attending  one  of  their  meetings, 
I  fled,  never  to  return.  Such  frumps!  There 
weren't  a  dozen  who  looked  as  though  they  could 
leave  a  drawing-room  properly.  The  virtues  un 
doubtedly  were  theirs,  but  chic  was  not.  They 
all  seemed  to  be  suffering  from  the  malady  called 
'I  am  the  great  I  am.'  ' 

Lillian  shook  a  slender  finger  at  me. 

"What  heresy!  A  past  of  honor  is  conducive 
to  honor." 

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MAID    to    ORDER 


"You  are  right,"  Ashburne  replied.  "Your 
standard  of  honor  was  a  moral  one.  Your  an 
cestors  fought  for  an  ideal;  in  fact,  America 
never  has  fought  for  any  other  reason.  We  Eng 
lish  open  our  Parliament  with  the  Lord's  prayer, 
but  we  invariably  grab  everything  in  sight  if  we 
can.  I  never  think  of  your  heroic  struggle  with 
out  mentally  lifting  my  hat.  These  Latins,  too, 
prate  eternally  of  I'honneur,  but  chic  is  their  only 
honor." 

"But  you,  as  we,  judge  by  the  class  we  know, 
and  that  is  wrong,"  I  said.  "Round  about  us, 
hidden  in  this  beautiful  country,  are  thousands  of 
homes  where  domestic  happiness  is  as  real  as  on 
our  prairies  at  home.  Consider,  for  instance,  our 
neighbors,  the  worthy  Mayor  and  his  worthier 
wife;  their  mutual  devotion  and  their  fat  bank 
account,  which  is  never  disturbed  except  to  be  en 
larged." 

Margaret  held  up  her  hands  in  horrified  de 
nial. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  don't  quote  them  as  an  ex 
ample  of  domestic  happiness  and  devotion.  The 
Mayor  has  been  a  very  gay  bird,  indeed.  They 
have  one  child,  a  hunchback  son — a  case  of  the 

45 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

sins  of  the  father  being  visited  on  the  child. 
They  represent  a  unique  class.  For  three  hun 
dred  years  they  have  been  farmers  here,  gradu 
ally  absorbing  properties,  storing  up  gains,  but 
never  changing  from  their  former  status.  They 
remain  peasants  and  live  as  such,  without  spend 
ing  a  sou  to  beautify  their  minds  or  surroundings." 

"In  America,"  I  said,  "they  would  send  their 
children  to  college,  and  eventually  they  would  be 
found  in  Newport  or  Burke's  Peerage." 

"You  see,  they  lack  curiosity,"  said  Lillian. 

"They  scorn  it,"  said  Margaret.  "And  I'm  off 
to  bed,  for  sunrise  must  find  me  at  work." 

We  said  good-night.  Lord  Ashburne  gazed 
down  on  Lillian's  slender  beauty  with  quizzical 
eyes. 

"You'll  forgive  me  for  not  having  been  born 
in  Boston?  It  is  my  misfortune,  not  my  fault." 

Lillian  threw  him  a  mocking  smile  as  she  ran 
up  the  steps. 

'  'Some  are  born  to  greatness,  some  attain  it, 
and  some  have  greatness  thrust  upon  them,'  "  she 
quoted. 

"I  am  going  to  Boston  to  attain  it,"  he  called 
after  her. 

46 


CHAPTER  III 

MR.     AND     MRS.     ROBINSON 

THERE  is  a  toyshop  on  the  Rue  de  Rivoli, 
opposite  the  Tuileries  Gardens,  against 
the  windows  of  which  childish  noses  have 
been  flattened  for  many  years.  I  was  standing 
there  one  morning,  a  fortnight  later,  with  a  sail 
boat  of  gigantic  proportions  weighing  heavily  on 
my  mind  and  hands,  lost  in  the  perfection  of 
rigging,  steering-gear  and  other  mysteries,  when 
a  voice  said  over  my  shoulder: 

"Don't  get  it.  It  hasn't  enough  keel  to  stand 
heavy  weather." 

I  turned.  There  stood  Lord  Ashburne,  fresh 
and  smart  in  his  light  gray  tweeds,  his  eyes  in 
tent,  not  on  me,  but  on  the  boat.  Without  fur 
ther  greeting,  he  took  it  from  my  hands  and 
launched  into  explanations  with  the  shopkeeper, 
showing  a  bewildering  knowledge  of  technicali 
ties.  Another  boat  was  produced,  which  Ash 
burne  scanned  with  searching  intelligence. 

47 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

"That  will  do.  It  could  cross  the  Channel. 
But  the  boy  must  learn  to  navigate  a  steamship. 
I'll  take  that  warship,"  pointing  to  a  glittering 
monster  from  which  cannon  pointed.  "And 
now,"  he  said,  when  details  of  purchase  were 
consummated,  "what  shall  we  do?" 

We  stood  in  the  shadow  of  the  arcade,  jostled 
by  hurrying  throngs.  Down  the  Rue  de  Rivoli 
motors,  cabs,  and  "busses"  flowed  in  two  direc 
tions  on  either  side  of  the  "islands."  A  bare 
headed  woman,  large-hipped,  short-skirted,  smil 
ingly  begged  us  to  buy  from  her  handcart,  piled 
with  fresh  figs  and  violets. 

"Do !"  said  I.  "I've  a  list  as  long  as  my  arm  of 
things  to  do.  And  what  are  you  doing  in  Paris?" 

"Business,"  he  replied  laconically.  "But  both 
your  list  and  my  business  can  wait.  Fate  has  ar 
ranged  our  meeting  and  this  delightful  day  on 
purpose  for  us  to  run  away  from  duty  and  enjoy 
ourselves.  We  will  go  on  what  Americans  call 
a  'spree.'  And  we  will  go  over  there  and  make 
plans." 

He  piloted  me  across  to  the  Tuileries,  where 
the  ubiquitous  child  and  bonne  filled  the  green 
alleys  with  movement  and  color.  Statues  gleamed 

48 


"  'Don't  get  it.     It  hasn't  enough  keel  to  stand  heavy 
weather.' " 

among  gay  parterres  of  flowers.  Miniature 
fleets  sailed  the  seas  of  dimpling  ponds.  To  right 
and  left  stretched  the  most  magnificent  vista  in 
the  world,  bounded  at  one  end  by  the  Etoile, 
loftily  arrogant  against  the  sky,  and  at  the  other, 
by  the  splendid  pile  of  the  Louvre. 

"One  almost  forgives  France  for  being  a  Re- 

49 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

public,"  he  said,  "when  we  can  saunter  here. 
Only  a  little  while  ago  the  child  Prince  Imperial 
peeped  through  this  grille  at  the  passing  world 
outside.  But  this  is  a  topsy-turvy  world.  The 
Prince  died  among  savages,  and  a  few  months 
ago  I  lunched  with  the  ex-Empress,  shorn  of 
beauty,  rank  and  power,  living  on  memories." 

"And  we  aliens  come  here  to  pity,"  I  said. 

"Yes,  and  to  decide  where  to — lunch." 

It  was  impossible  not  to  respond  to  the  irre 
pressible  gayety  of  his  voice.  It  was  also  pleas 
ant  to  be  thus  taken  for  granted.  Convention 
had  no  part  in  the  brilliance  of  the  day. 

"Very  well,"  I  said.  "If  Mrs.  Grundy  strikes 
us  from  her  visiting  list,  the  consequences  be  on 
your  own  head.  But  it  must  be  out  of  town, 
where  no  carpers  can  spoil  the  flavor." 

"What  a  good  sort  you  are !"  he  said  with  true 
British  candor.  "But  I  know  so  little  of  Parisian 
playgrounds.  Won't  you  decide?" 

"Then  it  shall  be  Sceaux  Robinson.  We'll  go 
out  in  a  'taxi,'  and  lunch  up  in  the  trees  like  our 
monkey  progenitors." 

Ashburne  raised  puzzled  eyebrows. 

"Up  in  the  trees?  I  may  be  a  gay  bird,  but 
50 


"Up  into  these  trees  steps  led,  twisting  up  through  huge 
branches   to   platforms." 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

I'm  also  a  hungry  one.  A  caterpillar  or  two  won't 
do  for  me." 

"You  are  in  my  hands,"  I  said  imperiously. 
"Wait  and  see." 

Half  an  hour  later  we  descended  at  the  gate 
of  a  well-ordered  garden.  Trim  hedges  guarded 
cool  boskies  from  the  road.  To  the  left,  among 
trees,  was  the  restaurant,  with  its  open  galleries 
set  with  iron  tables,  and  railings  topped  with 
pink  geraniums.  But  I  led  him  away  to  the  right, 
where,  on  the  crest  of  a  hill,  enormous  trees, 
gnarled,  umbrageous,  rose  from  velvet  turf.  A 
fountain  splashed  into  a  long  marble  pool,  from 
which  a  stream  rippled  through  mossy  banks. 
Up  into  these  trees  steps  led,  twisting  up  through 
huge  branches  to  platforms.  Each  platform  was 
railed  and  covered  with  a  thatched,  peaked  roof. 
Tables  and  chairs  furnished  each  rustic  dining- 
room. 

I  pointed  with  pride  to  the  view  from  our  eyrie. 
Ashburne  evinced  his  admiration  by  a  smothered 
"By  Jove!"  Paris  lay  beneath  us  in  a  delicate 
haze,  etherealized  by  distance.  The  white  domes 
of  Montmartre  hung  like  a  mirage  between  earth 
and  sky.  Like  a  silver  ribbon  wound  the  Seine 

52 


MR.    and    MRS.    ROBINSON 

between  tree-bordered  banks,  filled  with  shipping. 
A  long  belt  of  green  marked  the  Champs  Elysees 
and  Bois,  while  Notre  Dame  raised  two  fingers 
heavenward,  as  though  blessing  the  city  at  her 
feet.  Above  and  around  us  twittered  birds,  in 
nowise  disturbed  by  our  invasion  of  their  habita 
tion. 

We  heard  light  footsteps  mounting.  A  dimin 
utive  gargon  appeared,  his  black  hair,  glistening 
with  pomatum,  slicked  from  a  rear  parting  to  his 
high  cheek  bones.  His  smile,  illuminated  by  a 
generous  display  of  porcelain  teeth,  was  joyous. 
A  profound  knowledge  of  a  wicked  world  glinted 
from  his  black  eyes.  He  was  fleshless  as  a  skele 
ton,  and  his  reedy  neck  rose  untrammeled  from  a 
celluloid  collar.  He  brandished  a  serviette 
blithely  and  bowed. 

"Monsieur!  Madame!  A  meal  of  discrimi 
nation;  n'est  ce  pas?" 

He  produced  a  menu  on  which  no  such  thing  as 
prices  was  mentioned,  and  nodded  like  a  china 
mandarin  as  we  ordered. 

"Is  it  that  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  serving, 
or  will  Monsieur  avail  himself  of  the  lift,  and 
thus  enjoy  privacy?"  he  asked,  indicating  a  basket 

5  53 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

suspended  on  a  rope,  which  ran  through  a  pulley 
to  the  ground  near  the  rail. 

As  we  stared,  he  explained: 

"May  I  be  permitted  to  say  that  discretion  and 
tact  are  requisite  in  business?  With  married 
couples,  of  course,  personal  attention  is  not  amiss, 
but  in  the  case  of — er — er —  There  are  occa 
sions  when  intrusion  is  to  be  deplored.  Am  I 
right  in  supposing  that  I  will  not  be  re 
quired?" 

"Not  at  all,"  I  began  indignantly,  but  Ashburne 
suavely  interrupted. 

"I  commend  your  discretion.  We  will  use  the 
basket.  But  how  shall  I  call  you?" 

"Here  is  the  electric  bell.  I  shall  be  below. 
The  priest  baptized  me  Tootin,  but  since  my 
twenty-one  years  of  service  here  I  have  been 
called  The  Wreck." 

His  shrugged  shoulders  and  outspread  palms 
bespoke  a  history. 

"  Wreck?"  I  asked,  with  questioning  eyes. 

"It  is,  Madame,  that  I  was  once  stout,  even  to 
the  size  of  this  coat  which  Madame  will  notice 
is  far  from  me.  But  running  up  and  down  trees 
is  thinning.  Also,  Madame  will  recall  that 

54 


MR.    and    MRS.    ROBINSON 

Robinson  Crusoe  who  lived  in  a  tree  procured 
many  of  his  necessities  from  his  wreck.  As  it  is 
I  who  also  furnish  necessities,  our  honorable 
clients  have  thus  called  me  since  many  years." 

When  he  vanished,  Ashburne  looked  at  me 
with  twinkling  eyes,  doubtless  aware  of  the 
thoughts  that  arose  in  me.  But  he  merely  re 
marked: 

"You  shall  now  see  me  set  a  table  and  serve 
a  meal." 

"And  I " 

"You  are  to  perch  on  yonder  railing  as  Mrs. 
Robinson  would  have  done,  and  cultivate  a  belief 
in  the  kindly  instincts  of  humanity." 

"But  there  wasn't  any  Mrs.  Robinson." 

"How  do  you  know?  No  doubt  Defoe  re 
frained  from  any  mention  of  entanglements  from 
feelings  of  delicacy.  You'll  have  to  be  Mrs. 
Robinson,  or  The  Wreck  will  imagine  us  to  be 
one  of  those  frivolous  couples  who  prefer  baskets 
because  of  flirtatious  propensities." 

"How  vulgar-minded  everybody  seems  to  be," 
I  murmured  impersonally. 

Ashburne  paused  in  his  cutting  of  a  yard  of 
bread,  and  opened  astonished  eyes  upon  me. 

55 


The  HOUSE  of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

"Flirtation  vulgar!  Do  I  hear  aright?  You, 
an  American  woman,  to  proclaim  such  apostasy? 
Why " 

I  leaned  forward  and  waggled  a  finger  at  him 
severely. 

"Now  don't  classify.  Nothing  is  so  enraging. 
It  is  a  detestable  word,  and  American  women 
don't  flirt  half  as  brazenly  as  English  women. 
We  just  warm  our  hearts  at  the  flame.  Your 
countrywomen  jump  in  bodily,  sit  down  on  the 
coals  and  frizzle.  They  become  so  accustomed 
to  the  fiery  furnace  that  they  walk  in  and  out  of 
an  affair  as  unconcernedly  as  Shadrach,  Meshach, 
and  Abednego." 

"Fire  is  supposed  to  purify,"  said  he. 

"It  leaves  ugly  scars,"  said  I. 

"Honorable  scars  acquired  in  worthy  service," 
said  he. 

"Dishonorable  scars  acquired  in  unworthy 
play,"  said  I. 

"Then  you  disapprove  of  flirting?"  he  asked. 

"Not  at  all.  It  is  delightful,  if  done  on  the 
approved  American  methods.  But " 

"But  here  comes  the  melon.  Will  you  kindly  be 
seated,  Mrs.  Robinson.  And  now  please  explain 

56 


MR.    and    MRS.    ROBINSON 

those  approved  methods.  An  object-lesson  per 
haps  might  simplify " 

"Method  is  the  wrong  word,"  I  interrupted. 
"It  is  too  concrete.  It  should  be  merely  a  charm 
ing  exchange  of  sympathies,  tastes  and  admira 
tion." 

"How  impersonal  and  unsatisfactory!  To 
what  end?" 

"That  is  the  beauty  of  it.  There  is  no  end. 
Ends  are  so  horridly  final." 

"But  how  is  that  interchange  of  mutual  admir 
ation  expresed?" 

"In  a  thousand  ways — delicately,  without 
words.  Not  as  though  one  were  dishing  up  a 
rib-roast." 

"Then  I  am  to  understand  that  one  should  only 
verbally  express  one's  admiration  for  her  excel 
lent  moral  qualities?" 

I  lifted  both  hands  in  horror. 

"What  an  appalling  idea !  Talk  to  a  woman 
about  her  virtues,  and  she  will  yawn.  Praise  her 
clothes,  and  she  will  adore  you." 

"Truly?  I'm  so  glad  to  learn.  Should  like  to 
be  adored.  Now,  if  one  might  be  permitted, 
your  hat  is " 

57 


The  HOUSE  of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

"Will  you  kindly  pay  attention  to  your  duties, 
Mr.  Robinson?  That  chicken  has  been  there 
five  minutes." 

Ashburne  looked  at  me  reproachfully,  then 
grimly  carved  the  chicken,  while  I  mixed  the 
salad.  Silence  fell  between  us.  He  sighed  ob 
trusively.  I  poured  oil  on  the  salad,  but  not  on 
the  situation. 

"You  see,"  he  said  finally,  "you  say  one  thing 
and  act  another.  I  endeavor  to  put  your  theories 
to  practice,  and  get  snubbed  for  my  pains.  It's 
discouraging." 

He  looked  at  me  ruefully. 

"You  are  hopelessly  clumsy,"  said  I. 

He  regarded  me  above  the  depleted  chicken 
gravely. 

"You  are  right.  I  am  a  blundering  idiot.  I 
have  worked  so  much  that  I  am  clumsy  at 
play." 

"Then  talk  to  me  of  what  interests  you,  and 
you  will  be  interesting." 

"But  they  say  it  is  folly  to  talk  politics  to  a 
woman." 

"Why?" 

"Because,  if  she  understands,  she  is  bored.  If 
58 


MR.    and    MRS.    ROBINSON 

she  doesn't  understand,  she  listens  only  to  please, 
and  then  she  bores." 

"Then  you  think  woman  is  merely  to  amuse, 
but  not  to  interest  man?" 

"Heaven  forbid!"  he  cried.  "I  can  easily  im 
agine  being  so  interested  in  a  woman  that  other 
matters  would  become  no  more  than  a  mirage 
on  the  horizon  of  my  life." 

"You  have  friends  among  women?" 

"  Have  I  not  Margaret?" 

He  spoke  with  such  gravity  and  simple  pride 
that  I  was  moved  with  a  feminine  longing  to 
probe.  What  was  the  bond  between  them? 
Aside  from  a  man's  attitude  toward  herself, 
nothing  so  interests  a  woman  as  his  attitude  to 
ward  another  woman.  I  also  was  moved  with 
feline  curiosity  to  test  his  modesty  as  a  hero. 
Doubtless  he  would  be  eloquent  enough  regard 
ing  his  personal  exploits. 

I  smiled  sweetly. 

"Yes!  your  friendship  is  delightful!  Where 
and  when  did  you  meet?" 

He  met  my  bland  and  childlike  gaze  with  keen 
eyes,  and  hesitated. 

"Oh !  a  long  time  ago ;  quite  by — er — accident." 

59 


The  HOUSE  of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

"Really!     When  and  how?" 

He  rose  and  piled  dishes  into  the  basket,  and 
pulled  up  the  ices,  with  unnecessary  agreeability 
to  The  Wreck  below.  But  when  he  was  seated 
I  spoke  again: 

"Well,  you  haven't  told  me." 

"It  wasn't  at  all  romantic,"  he  replied  lightly. 
"I  met  her  in  India,  in  the  country." 

"Country-house  party?" 

"Not  exactly  a  party,  perhaps,  and  country- 
houses  are  called  bungalows  out  there." 

"Did  you  see  much  of  each  other?" 

"Not  so  much  then.  We  were  both  somewhat 
occupied,  but  later,  in  Calcutta,  I  saw  her  con 
stantly.  She  is  a  remarkable  woman.  A  Yogi 
told  me  that  her  aura  is  purple." 

"What  does  that  mean?"  I  asked,  conscious 
that  he  had  skillfully  baffled  me. 

"It  means  healing,"  he  replied.  "Margaret's 
presence  is  a  healing.  Don't  you  feel  it?  Most 
people's  auras  are  yellow,  which  means  they  are 
liars." 

"That  is  a  harsh  word,"  I  said. 

"Well,  call  them  humbugs,"  he  answered,  pil 
ing  the  plates  into  the  basket. 

60 


MR.    and    MRS.    ROBINSON 

He  placed  the  coffee  before  me,  and  untied  the 
rope  with  exaggerated  attention. 

"Tell  me,  please,"  I  said,  smiling  up  into  his 


"'Ye  gods!     What  have  I  done?'" 

eyes,  "is  country-house  life  in  India  run  on  Eng 
lish  principles?  Does  every  Jack  have  his  Jill? 
What  did  you  and  Margaret  do,  being  of  sober 

minds?" 

61 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

"We  walked  and  talked  and —  Ye  gods ! 
What  have  I  done?  " 

The  basket  had  gone  crashing  earthward  with 
a  sound  of  broken  crockery  and  hectic  French 
from  below.  Ashburne  turned  a  frightened 
glance  on  me.  I  knew  he'd  done  it  deliberately. 

"I'll  be  scolded!"  he  said. 

The  Wreck  appeared,  his  face  wreathed  in 
smiles. 

"Be  not  disturbed,  Monsieur.  Such  accidents 
are  of  frequent  occurrence  here.  There  are  apt 
to  be  moments  of — er — agitation."  He  point 
edly  avoided  looking  in  my  direction,  just  as 
though  I  had  had  something  to  do  with  the  catas 
trophe. 

"But  the  proprietor — "  said  Ashburne. 

The  Wreck  made  a  soothing  gesture. 

"Ah  del!  But  he  will  be  overjoyed.  Mon 
sieur  will  pay  the  price  of  Sevres,  and  cheap 
crockery  will  be  bought.  All  is  delightful — the 
cause  of  the  accident  and  its  results  to  the  pro 
prietor.  A  la  bonne  henre!" 

The  Wreck  disappeared.  Ashburne  raised 
his  glass. 

"A  toast,  Madame,  to  the  Anglo-American  en- 
62 


MR.    and    MRS.    ROBINSON 

tente  cordiale,  and  may  I  never  meet  you  in 
climbing  the  Hill  of  Prosperity." 

"How  unkind!"  I  replied. 

"Not  at  all.  You  would  be  coming  down,  if 
we  met.  I  prefer  to  overtake  you." 

"Then  may  I  return  the  toast?"  I  replied.  "May 
misfortune  follow  you  all  the  days  of  your  life." 

"A  bit  hard  on  my  country,  which  I  serve  diplo 
matically." 

"If  misfortune  always  follows  your  Excel 
lency,  it  will  never  catch  you.  But,  joking  aside, 
nations  are  always  personalities  to  me,  and  I  like 
or  dislike  them  accordingly." 

"How  feminine!"  Ashburne  replied.  "For 
ever  the  personal  equation.  What  is  England?" 

"Ah!  who  is  the  personal  equation  now?"  I 
asked. 

"Scored!"  laughed  Ashburne. 

"France  is  our  hostess,  and  one  loves  her,  not 
for  her  virtues,  perhaps,  but  for  her  delightful 
faults.  She  has  a  chic  to  make  one  despair,  and 
charms  the  senses  more  than  the  heart.  Her 
face  is  a  mask,  with  painted  lips,  and  her  brain 
is  brilliant  rather  than  astute.  Her  saving  grace 
is  maternal  love." 

63 


The  HOUSE  of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

"It  is  her  best  interpretation  of  love,  isn't  it?" 
asked  Ashburne. 

"Perhaps,  but  she  doesn't  know  it." 

"Is  she  too  gay  to  hate,  O  Seer?" 

"No,  but  she  endeavors  to  be  chic  even  in  that. 
She  wreathes  it  with  immortelles  on  the  statues  of 
Alsace  and  Lorraine." 

"And  ill-mannered  Germany  doesn't  even  feel 
distressed,"  said  Ashburne. 

"Not  he.  He  sits  upright  in  his  saddle,  hel- 
meted,  spurred,  lance  in  hand.  He  is  stiff-necked, 
intelligent,  and  opinionated.  Almost  brutal  as 
regards  discipline,  but  I've  seen  him  cherish  a 
Christmas  card  from  his  mother  as  tenderly  as 
you  would  a  cricket  prize.  He  regards  women 
as  blessed  in  being  able  to  minister  to  his  com 
fort,  and  his  Emperor  as  the  latest  incarnation 
of  Divinity." 

Ashburne  raised  horrified  hands. 

"If  he  were  here,  he'd  clap  you  into  jail  for 
lese  majeste." 

"Never!  He  would  be  charming,  and  tell  me 
more  about  my  own  country  than  I  ever  knew." 

"His  cousin  Russia,  however,  has  the  gift  of 
silence,"  said  Ashburne,  reaching  for  another 

64 


MR.    and    MRS.    ROBINSON 

cigarette.  "You  can't  place  Russia  in  the  femi 
nine  gender." 

"No !  his  silence  speaks  for  itself.  He  is  not 
lovable,  your  Russia.  He  is  none  too  clean.  He 
moves  ponderously.  His  shadow  seems  larger 
than  that  of  other  men.  He  waits;  for  what,  he 
hardly  knows,  but  he  waits  inexorably,  weapons 
hidden,  without  pity  or  fear.  When  he  ceases  to 
wait  and  unsheaths  his  weapons — alas  for  Eu 
rope!" 

"And  meanwhile,"  said  Ashburne,  "dynamite 
and  the  Duma  keep  things  from  becoming  dull. 
And  truly,  his  shadow  seems  to  reach  even  Sceaux 
Robinson.  One  feels  the  chill.  Do  give  us 
something  gay." 

"Spain?" 

"Is  Spain  really  gay?"  asked  Ashburne.  "She 
seems  to  me  like  a  girl,  red-lipped,  who  dances 
like  a  flame  on  the  grave  of  dead  glories." 

"But  she  has  the  courage  to  dance,"  said  I. 
"There  may  be  no  food  in  the  larder,  or  money 
in  her  purse,  but  pride  is  her  sustenance.  She 
carries  two  weapons:  her  eyes,  and  the  stiletto  in 
her  hair." 

"She  uses  one  as  readily  as  the  other,"  said 

65   ' 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

Ashburne,  "and  neither  with  reason.  She  is  a 
child  and  a  serpent;  a  saint  and  a  demon." 

"But  she  knows  how  to  love,"  said  I. 

"Still  better  how  to  hate,"  said  Ashburne,  "and 
her  love  is  as  dangerous  as  her  hate.  But,  then, 
isn't  love  always  dangerous?" 

"Not  in  America,"  said  I. 

"What  egotism  !     Why  not?" 

"It  is  truth,  not  egotism.  It  is  because  our 
men  know  how  to  combine  love  with  respect.  It 
is  the  highest  expression  of  civilization." 

Ashburne  nodded  gravely. 

"Perhaps  you  are  right.  The  old  world  is 
prone  to  find  them  incompatible.  In  the  East 
women  are  respected  only  when  old  age  debars 
love.  In  India " 

"In  country-houses?"  I  asked  blandly. 

"Bungalows!"  he  corrected. 

"Well,  you  were  going  to  say — 

"India  is  in  the  process  of  reincarnation,  and 
finds  the  process  painful.  But,  being  a  woman, 
veiled,  she  is  hard  to  understand." 

"Yes!  She  practices  the  doctrine  Christians 
preach,  of  turning  the  other  cheek,  but,  while  she 
bends,  she  never  breaks;  and  one  day,  perhaps, 

66 


MR.    and    MRS.    ROBINSON 

she  will  tire  of  submission,  and  blow  England's 
rule  to  bits  with  a  bomb.     And  then " 

"Alas!"  said  Ashburne,  "it  is  then  that  China 
will  sit  up  and  take  notice,  I  fear." 

"Meanwhile,  like  Brer  Fox,  he  ain't  sayin' 
nuffin'.  He  jist  lays  low,"  said  I. 

"But  if  one  listens,  Madame,  one  can  hear  the 
sound  of  cruel  weapons  being  sharpened;  the 
sharp  orders  of  European  officers  drilling  re 
cruits,  whose  pigtails  are  concealed  beneath  mod 
ern  helmets.  There  is  a  ceaseless  murmur  of  se 
cret  activity;  the  muffled  upheaval  of  great  forces 
— sinister,  ominous." 

"And  when  those  hordes  get  moving,  will  they 
sail  across  and  murder  us  poor  Americans  in  our 
beds?" 

Ashburne  stretched  out  a  long  arm,  covered 
with  smart  gray  tweed. 

"This  will  defend  you.  Have  we  not  sworn 
an  entente  cordiale?  But  you  haven't  given 
me  any  pointers  about  the  personality  of 
America.' 

"I  refuse.     It  would  be  embarrassing." 

Ashburne  tossed  away  his  cigarette  and  crossed 
his  arms  on  the  table's  edge. 

67 


The  HOUSE  Of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

"Then  I  will  describe  America  as  I  see  her," 
he  said,  looking  straight  into  my  eyes.  "Do  you 
give  me  leave?" 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders,  drawing  on  my 
gloves. 

"Very  well.  Silence  gives  consent.  If  I  make 
mistakes,  correct  me.  She  has  youth's  radiance 
mellowed  by  experience.  She  is  wise  and  tender. 
Her  creed  is  charity.  Her  worldly  experience  is 
only  equalled  by  her  taste  in  personal  adorn 
ment." 

"That,"  I  broke  in,  "is  more  subtle  than  your 
attempted  remark  on  my  hat." 

"Thanks !  Am  glad  to  know  I'm  improving. 
She  is  ambitious,  and  pursues  shadows  with  un 
flagging  energy  until  her  nerves  give  out.  She 
fancies  she  has  exhausted  life,  whereas  she  has 
not  yet  begun  to  live.  She  is  entirely  aware  she 
is  charming,  but  too  intelligent  to  give  much 
thought  to  the  matter.  She  has  grave  eyes  of 
violet.  Her  hair  is — is " 

"Oh!  skip  her  hair,  please." 

"Very  well.  But  it  is  her  own.  Her  mouth  is 
that  of  a  serious  woman,  but  one  dimple  pre 
serves  faith  in  the  possibility  of  joy.  Her " 

68 


MR.    and    MRS.    ROBINSON 

I  reddened  beneath  his  direct  gaze,  and  rose, 
reaching  for  my  parasol. 

"Details  are  tiresome,"  I  said,  "and  The 
Wreck  will  go  to  pieces  if  we  don't  come  down. 
He'll  think  we  intend  to  roost  here  all  night,  like 
a  pair  of  homeless  fowls." 

We  descended,  and,  with  much  flourishing  of 
serviette  from  the  beaming  Wreck,  we  puff- 
puffed  away  to  Paris.  On  the  Pont  de  1'Alma, 
Ashburne  pulled  out  his  watch. 

"Only  four  o'clock.  We  must  go  out  to  Pre 
Catalan  for  tea." 

But  I  shook  my  head  with  decision. 

"No !  I'm  going  straight  to  the  Gare  du  Nord. 
This  spree  has  demoralized  my  powers  for  buy 
ing  kitchen  towels,  and  you  must  attend  to  your 
affairs." 

To  my  surprise  he  did  not  demur.  Evidently 
he  had  been  surfeited  with  the  American  type. 
When  I  was  in  the  train,  he  stood  looking  up  to 
my  bending  face. 

"Good-bye!"  I  said,  giving  him  my  hand. 

He  took  it. 

"Oh!  I  say!"  he  remarked  impulsively,  "I 
can't  let  you  go  out  there  alone.  It's  impossible. 
G  69 


The  HOUSE  of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

It  will  be  entirely  too  late  for  that  long 
drive." 

I  laughed. 

"How  absurd!  Look  at  that  sun,  miles  from 
the  edge  of  the  world.  And  who  is  to  eat  me?" 

But  he  shook  his  head  solemnly. 

"Couldn't  possibly.  If  anything  should  hap 
pen  to  you,  Margaret  would  never  forgive  me. 
So  glad  I  thought  of  it." 

"Oh!"  I  said,  "if  you're  uneasy  on  Margaret's 
account " 

He  put  on  his  straw  hat  and  climbed  in  deter 
minedly. 

"Promise  not  to  be  cross  if  I  tell  you  some 
thing." 

"Of  course  not.  But  the  trains  back  to  town 
are  few  and  far  between." 

"Very  well.  I'll  tell  you  a  secret,  a  great  and 
profound  secret.  I  'phoned  to  my  servant  from 
Sceaux  Robinson  to  take  some  togs  for  me  to  the 
chateau,  as  I  decided  to  spend  the  night  beneath 
that  hospitable  roof." 

"Oh!  Oh! — and  you  intended  to  go  all  the 
time?" 

"No!  Not  all  the  time.  The  idea  germinated 
70 


MR.    and    MRS.    ROBINSON 

with  the  melon  and  became  full-fledged  with  the 
coffee." 

"And  your  business?" 

"Isn't  the  chief  business  of  man  the  pursuit  of 
happiness?" 

"What  will  Margaret  say?  She  thinks  you  are 
in  London." 

"It  would  be  wrong  to  allow  her  to  remain  un 
der  a  false  impression." 

I  fell  back,  vanquished.  When  the  train  was  in 
rapid  motion,  my  considerate  friend  rose,  saying: 

"Of  course,  if  my  going  annoys  you,  I'll  get 
out." 

His  hand  was  on  the  door,  his  face  smiling. 

"Of  course  not.    You'd  break  your  neck." 

"There!"  he  cried  with  triumph.  "I  shall  tell 
Margaret  what  you  say.  Neither  of  you  can  say 
I  wasn't  invited." 

She  was  glad  to  see  him.  Promptly  after  din 
ner  they  both  disappeared  into  the  purple  night, 
perched  on  the  wooden  seat  of  the  two-wheeled 
cart.  It  was  nearly  midnight  when  I  heard  the 
wheels  in  the  court,  and  the  next  morning  they 
had  the  audacity  to  say  they  had  merely  driven  to 
Senlis  to  buy  lemons ! 

71 


CHAPTER    IV 

DIPLOMACY     IN     THE     FOREST 

I  HAVE  seen  her!"  I  announced  the  following 
day  at  luncheon. 

"Seen  whom?"  asked  Margaret. 

"The  Mayor's  wife.  I'm  sure  it  was  she — tall, 
stout,  beady-black  eyes,  and  with  brow  and  nose 
of  a  Caesar.  Her  hair  is  black  and  drawn  into  a 
tight  button  behind." 

"Not  an  alluring  personality,"  said  Lord  Ash- 
burne. 

"Where  did  you  see  her?"  asked  Lillian. 

"As  they  say  in  novels,  she  came  upon  us.  You 
see,  I  was  fishing." 

"Fishing!     Where?" 

"In  the  village  pond,  with  Alwyn.  He  went 
there  with  Henriette,  and  I  followed,  to  find  my 
son  ankle-deep  in  mud,  and,  under  a  tree,  Hen 
riette,  deep  in  conversation  with  a  young  man,  a 
hunchback.  He  had  a  face  of  such  resigned  sad 
ness  that  I  longed  to  comfort  him,  as  Henriette 

72 


DIPLOMACY    in    the    FOREST 

was  plainly  attempting  to  do.  So  interested  were 
they  in  each  other  that  I  tucked  up  my  skirts  and 
joined  Alwyn,  shielding  my  nose  from  freckles 
with  his  hat.  We  were  all  perfectly  happy,  when 
a  voice  like  a  fog-horn  made  us  jump. 

'Jean!  what  do  you  mean  by  idling  there? 
I  sent  you  to  the  beet  field  an  hour  ago !' 

"We  all  started  like  frightened  rabbits.  Jean 
flushed.  The  lady  glared  at  Henriette,  who 
smiled  impertinently  back,  as  though  to  say,  'Box 
my  ears,  if  you  dare.'  Me  she  honored  with 
merely  a  stare  of  mingled  contempt  and  curiosity. 
Jean  rose  wearily  and  lifted  his  cap  to  Henriette 
as  though  she  was  a  duchess,  and  followed  his 
irate  parent,  who  murmured  something  about 
lazy  men  and  brazen  hussies.  Margaret,  we've 
got  to  crush  that  woman,  or  we  are  lost.  When 
she  calls,  do  bring  out  your  grand  manner,  and, 
Lillian,  air  your  learning." 

"And  what  must  I  do?"  asked  Ashburne. 

"You,  dear  boy?  Why,  aren't  you  leaving  this 
afternoon?"  asked  Margaret. 

He  flushed  boyishly. 

"Of  course,  if  you  insist,  but  I  wouldn't  mind 
stopping  on  a  bit." 

73 


"  'Jean.  what  do  you  mean  by  idling  there  ?' " 

"And  we'd  love  to  have  you,"  said  his  hostess 
affectionately,  "but  I  must  work.  You  are  a  dis 
turbing  element.  But  stay  to-night,  and  later  on 
come  back." 

He  looked  frankly  disappointed,  evidently  hav 
ing  counted  on  being  urged  to  remain. 

"You  see,"  said  Lillian,  applying  salve  to  his 
wound,  "we  don't  wish  to  accustom  ourselves  to 
the  protection  of  a  man.  We'd  be  timid  after 
ward.  You  know  there  is  a  ghost." 

"Where?"  said  Margaret. 

"In  the  cellar." 

74 


DIPLOMACY    in    the    FOREST 

"How  delightful!"  said  I.  "Just  what  was 
needed  to  complete  the  proper  atmosphere." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Lillian,  "for  I  wanted  to 
grow  mushrooms  in  the  cellar.  Now  Isidore 
flatly  refuses  to  go  near  the  place  farther  than 
the  coal-bin,  and  warns  us  all  most  emphatically 
to  avoid  the  place  as  we  hope  for  good  will  on 
earth  and  peace  in  Heaven.  He  says  he  has  him 
self  seen  it;  a  child,  carrying  its  head  in  its  arms." 

"What  a  disgusting  story!  .  No  doubt  Isidore 
is  growing  mushrooms  there  himself  for  his  own 
profit,  and  we " 

Margaret  was  interrupted  by  an  unearthly 
shriek  from  the  court,  a  sound  of  such  palpitating 
agony  and  horror  that  we  remained  an  instant 
transfixed.  Another  shriek,  hardly  human,  long- 
drawn,  hideous.  It  pierced  the  scented  air  which 
was  wafted  through  the  rose-wreathed  windows, 
with  a  piercing  quality  which  froze  one's  blood. 

"My  God!"  exclaimed  Ashburne,  rushing  to 
ward  the  door.  "Someone  is  being  murdered." 

We  rose,  upsetting  chairs,  and  pelted  out  to 
the  hall  door.  We  heard  hurrying  footsteps 
along  the  corridor.  A  door  slammed  in  the  dis 
tance. 

75 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

We  reached  the  steps.  The  court  lay  simmer 
ing  in  the  noontide  heat.  The  giant  beeches 
stood  motionless  in  the  tranquil  air,  where  but 
terflies  drifted  like  flowers  above  the  bed  of  pan- 
sies.  I  could  hear  my  own  heart  beat  in  the  si 
lence. 

"Where  are  the  servants?"  demanded  Mar 
garet  irritatedly.  Even  her  splendid  nerves  were 
out  of  tune. 

Opposite  we  could  see  the  kitchen.  It  was 
empty.  It  seemed  like  an  enchanted  place  from 
which  life  had  fled  affrighted.  We  ran  down  the 
steps  toward  the  outer  gate.  Half-way  across 
the  court  we  \vere  arrested  by  another  appalling 
shriek.  The  gate  swung  inward,  admitting  our 
servants  and  a — donkey !  whose  diminutive  body 
was  even  then  shaken  like  a  leaf  in  the  storm  by 
the  monstrous  sound  which  issued  from  his  open 
mouth. 

The  shock  of  our  discovery,  on  top  of  our 
fright,  upset  our  equilibrium,  differently  accord 
ing  to  temperament.  Alwyn  relieved  the  tension 
by  explaining  that  I  was  to  buy  Clemenceau,  so 
named  because  of  obstinate  characteristics,  and  it 
straightway  became  a  member  of  the  family. 

76 


DIPLOMACY    in    the    FOREST 

Tired  out  by  this  nerve-racking  episode,  I 
sought  a  book  and  cushion,  and  started  alone  for 
the  forest  in  quest  of  repose.  Passing  into  the 
cathedral-like  aisle  of  the  Linden  Walk,  where 
faint  sun-rays  penetrated  as  through  tinted  win 
dows  set  high  in  a  vaulted  roof,  I  went  on  toward 
the  iron  gate  seen  from  the  perron.  But  it  was 
locked,  and  on  its  farther  side  was  a  deep  moat, 
over  which,  no  doubt,  a  drawbridge  once  swung. 
Retracing  my  steps,  I  followed  a  high  wall, 
crawled  through  an  aperture,  and  then  wralked 
back  to  the  other  side  of  the  iron  grille.  From 
there,  beneath  arching  trees,  stretched  a  long 
vista  into  the  forest.  A  causeway,  paved  with 
moss-grown  stones,  was  built  up  from  the  level, 
no  doubt  the  former  approach  to  the  house.  One 
could  easily  picture  gay  cavalcades,  and  lumber 
ing  chariots,  filling  this  green  aisle  with  sound  and 
color. 

To  right  and  left  paths  divulged  into  dim 
alleys  of  gloom  and  mystery,  tempting  curiosity. 
But  I  kept  steadily  on,  dipping  down  into  a  glade 
where  the  road  lay  between  high,  moss-covered 
banks  and  fern.  At  last  the  cobbles  ended  in  a 
stretch  of  perfectly  white  sand.  One  wondered 

77 


The  HOUSE  of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

by  what  prehistoric  convulsion  of  Nature  this  bit 
of  sea  flooring  had  found  itself  among  loam  and 
clay.  To  the  right  rose  a  hill,  covered  with  giant 
pines.  This  I  climbed,  catching  at  roots  and 
tumbling  into  rabbit  burrows.  At  last  the  crest 
was  reached.  Above  me  towered  the  singing 
pines.  Beneath  lay  a  carpet  of  scented  needles. 
Tucking  my  cushion  into  a  rooted  nook,  I  lay 
down. 

For  many  years  I  had  not  been  so  alone.  It 
was  a  pleasure,  exquisite  in  its  keen  conscious 
ness;  this  profundity  of  solitude  among  swaying 
shadows,  cool  depths,  alluring  spaces  where  green 
lights,  illusive,  translucent,  beckoned  one's  imagi 
nation  to  wander  into  secret  enchantments.  My 
tired  spirit  folded  its  wings,  and  I  sank  into  con 
tent. 

How  beautiful  was  this  natural  world,  seem 
ing  so  devoid  of  life,  but  teeming  with  energy! 
Alas!  my  ignorance  debarred  me  from  appreciat 
ing  half  the  surrounding  wonders.  For  centuries 
these  forests  had  been,  and  would  be,  primeval; 
august  as  the  fathomless  depths  above.  Human 
passions,  the  flare  of  the  world,  could  not  enter 
here.  The  Angel  of  Peace  was  warder  of  this 

78 


"'You!'  he  ejaculated." 

haven,  where  beauty  and  mystery  held  sway. 
And  "God  walked  in  the  Garden  in  the  cool  of 
the  evening."  The  ancient  words  whispered 
themselves  with  the  sighing  of  the  pines.  Surely 
He  was  here,  where  the  indignities  of  humanity 
could  not  disturb  His  August  Presence. 

My  tired  eyes  closed  with  the  sound  of  stirring 
leaves,  and  I  drifted  off  on  a  sea  of  profound 

79 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

repose.  How  long  I  slept  I  know  not.  Some 
thing  small  and  furry,  running  across  my  hand, 
startled  me  broad  awake.  The  sun  was  dropping 
behind  the  trees,  filling  the  forest  with  enchant 
ing  color.  And  not  ten  feet  away,  with  his  back 
to  me,  sat  Lord  Ashburne  smoking  a  briar  pipe, 
plainly  unconscious  of  my  proximity. 

He  did  not  stir.  Neither  did  I.  Moments 
passed.  The  smoke  curled  lazily  up  from  his 
pipe,  while  I  lay  motionless.  Of  what  was  he  so 
busily  thinking?  Presently  I  heard  a  distinct 
chuckle,  and  then  a  murmured  "  Bless  her!" 

My  curiosity  was  wide  awake.  Whom  wyas  he 
blessing?  Feeling  like  an  eavesdropper,  I 
stealthily  rose,  and  ventured  a  modest  "Ahem!" 
He  looked  around  and  sprang  erect. 

"You!"  he  ejaculated. 

"Yes,  it's  me,"  1  replied  ungrammatically. 
"How  long  have  you  been  here?" 

"I  might  as  well  'fess  up.  I  saw  you  leave, 
and  discreetly  followed,  but  didn't  suppose  that 
you  went  in  for  this  sort  of  thing." 

"Only  lack  of  opportunity,"  I  replied,  "but  let 
us  go  further  into  this  enchanted  wood." 

We  scrambled  down  the  slope  into  a  narrow 
80 


DIPLOMACY    in    the    FOREST 

path  edged  with  giant  ferns,  where  unbroken 
forest  stretched  on  either  hand,  dense  and  coolly 
green.  Here  and  there  -other  paths  diverged, 
which  my  companion  said  had  been  cut  for 
"  beaters,"  who  roused  game  from  their  hiding- 
places.  As  we  strolled  along,  rabbits  scurried  be 
fore  us,  and  an  occasional  pheasant  rose  with 
whirring  wings. 

"If  only  one  had  knowledge,"  I  said,  "to  read 
the  meaning  of  it  all  as  would  a  geologist,  her 
balist  or  natural  historian.  It  is  an  exasperation 
to  realize  the  marvels,  and  be  unable  to  under 
stand  them.  If  Maeterlink  found  a  book's  con 
tents  of  fascinating  romance  in  a  beehive,  what 
wider  interests  lie  about  us!" 

"But  you  surely  find  something  here,"  he  said. 

"Yes!  I  find  peace." 

"Then  I  fear  it  is  a  case  of  ignorance  being 
bliss,  dear  Madame,  for  peace  is  conspicuous  only 
by  its  absence." 

I  raised  protesting  eyes  to  his. 

"Surely,  the  'struggle  of  ever  climbing  up  the 
climbing  wave'  is  absent  here." 

"It  is  never  absent.  Life  in  any  condition  is  a 
relentless  warfare.  Do  you  suppose,  because  you 

81 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

hear  birds  sing,  see  leaves  dance  gayly,  and  flow 
ers  bloom,  that  their  conditon  differs  from  that 
of  the  struggling,  cruel,  devouring  world  we  live 
in?" 

"Of  course.  Nature  at  least  is  beneficent  and 
dignified." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  Nature  has  to  submit  to  the 
survival  of  the  fittest  as  well  as  ourselves.  There 
is  nothing,  from  the  struggling,  fighting  organism 
in  a  tear  to  a  Napoleon,  which  is  not  destroyed 
by  something  stronger  than  itself.  These  woods, 
where  you  fancy  peace  dwells,  are  a  battlefield  of 
hunted  fear,  courageous  effort,  and  eventual  de 
feat.  The  delicate  blade  of  grass  pushes  its  way 
up  from  darkness  to  light.  It  finds  sun,  to  be 
sure,  but  also  rough  winds  and  gray  skies;  but  it 
pushes  on.  The  caterpillar  sees  this  dainty  morsel 
and  devours  it.  A  bird  arrests  its  song  to  enjoy 
this  appetizing  worm.  The  snake,  uncoiling  in 
the  sun,  finds  itself  hungry,  and  the  gay  song  dies 
in  the  snake's  throat.  A  mole,  peeping  from  its 
hole  in  the  night,  finds  the  snake  off  guard,  and 
the  bird  is  avenged.  Your  gardener,  resenting 
the  mole's  burrow  across  the  lawn,  quickly  traps 
it,  and  its  skin  goes  to  clothe  a  pretty  woman." 

82 


DIPLOMACY    in    the    FOREST 

I  shuddered.    Ignorance  was  bliss. 

"Why  did  you  tell  me?"  I  cried.  "Peace  has 
fled,  and  Death  is  here." 

We  had  come  to  the  edge  of  the  forest,  where 
stretched  sunny  fields  of  pink  clover  and  golden 
buckwheat,  over  which  larks  soared  and  sang 
against  the  sky.  The  evening  star  hung  palpitat 
ing  in  the  west.  To  our  left,  a  laden  hay  cart 
drawn  by  four  huge,  white  oxen,  indigenous  to  the 
province,  passed  slowly,  their  driver's  odd  call 
echoing  across  the  fields. 

"Do  sit  down  here, "said  Lord  Ashburne, point 
ing  to  velvet  turf  which  edged  the  road. 

Nothing  loath,  I  settled  against  a  tree-trunk, 
while  he  stretched  himself  at  my  feet,  his  bronzed, 
clever  face  in  profile  against  the  yellow  buck 
wheat.  Neither  spoke,  but  we  sat  in  silence,  lis 
tening  to  woodland  sounds  behind  us,  and  the 
chirping  of  crickets  in  the  weeds.  At  last  he 
turned.  His  gray  eyes  searched  mine  with  grave 
deliberation. 

"I  feel  a  guilty  wretch  to  have  robbed  your  for 
est  of  its  peace.  An  illusion  is  a  panacea,  and  we 
are  able  to  retain  so  few." 

"But   one   should  be   strong   enough   to   bear 

83 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

truth,"  I  said.  "One  gets  the  idea  that  it  is  only 
humanity  which  has  the  honor  of  struggle  and  at 
tainment.  It  breeds  egotism.  But  it  is  merciless, 
this  instinct  to  live,  which  keeps  all  the  links  in  the 
chain  of  evolution  clinging,  fighting  for  hold  on 
life.  Why  struggle?  Why  live?  The  only  cer 
tainties  in  life  are  pain  and  death.  Yet  everything 
and  everyone  endures  misfortune  of  every  kind, 
rather  than  lay  the  burden  down.  Why?" 

"I  know  of  but  two  reasons.  The  instinct  to 
live  is  fundamental.  We  live  because  we  must. 
Also  from  curiosity.  Intelligence  is  always  curi 
ous.  We  wish  to  turn  the  next  page,  hoping  for 
something  better.  My  past  has  been  too  full  of 
action  to  allow  me  time  to  think  whether  I  was 
happy  or  not.  But,  now  that  I  consider,  I  realize, 
of  course,  that  inwardly  I  am  not.  Externals  do 
not  count." 

"You  think  so  because  you  have  them.  De 
prived  of  them " 

My  companion  smiled. 

"But  I  have  lived  for  months  without  them — 
in  the  wilderness,  my  only  food  what  I  killed,  like 
primal  man.  One  ceases  to  be  a  creature  of  adap 
tabilities  under  such  conditions.  Mental  and 

84 


DIPLOMACY    in    the    FOREST 

moral  balance  are  regained.     Do  you  remember 
those  lines — - 

««  'Oh!   the  fret  of  the  world  with  its  wounds  and  its  worry! 
Oh!   the  thought  of  Life  and  the  thought  of  Death, 
And  the  Soul  in  its  silent  hurry. 

But  the  stars  break  above,  and  the  fields  flower  under, 
And  the  tragical  life  of  man  goes  on, 
Surrounded  by  beauty  and  wonder.'  ' 

He  looked  up  at  my  bending  face  a  bit  shyly. 

"I'm  a  duffer  at  quoting  poetry,"  he  said,  with 
the  usual  embarrassment  of  the  Briton  when  ex 
pressing  sentiment.  "But  you  understand." 

"Of  course  I  do,"  I  replied. 

Then,  by  some  psychological  process  possible 
only  to  the  feminine  mind,  the  solemnity  of  the 
words  worked  a  reaction.  Was  my  own  pessi 
mism  sincere?  Youth,  health,  my  surroundings 
made  themselves  felt.  I  laughed,  and  then  could 
have  boxed  my  own  ears  as  I  saw  him  flush. 

"Do  forgive  me,"  I  said  gently.  "You  must 
think  me  a  flippant  creature,  but  indeed  it  was  at 
myself  I  was  laughing.  What  is  the  real  and 
what  is  the  seeming?  Sometimes  I  seem  to  sit  in 
the  corner  of  my  own  brain  and  watch  the  proces 
sion  of  selves  pass  by." 

7  85 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

He  looked  puzzled. 

"But  you  are  an  individuality." 

"So  was  Joseph's  coat  an  actuality,  but  had  you 
asked  it  what  color  it  was,  the  coat  would  have 
been  at  a  loss  perhaps." 

"It  must  be  a  bother  to  be  complex,"  he  said 
sympathetically,  "a  sort  of  moral  and  mental  con 
tortionist.  What  is  the  real  woman  within 
you?" 

"I  haven't  the  remotest  idea,"  I  replied,  with 
conviction. 

"And  if  you  knew,  you  would  have  given  the 
same  answer.  You  are  superficially  the  frank 
est  of  women,  but,  au  fond,  the  most  reserved. 
Heaven  help  the  man  who  takes  you  literally." 

He  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke  heavenward,  with 
half-shut  eyes,  while  I  wondered  at  the  folly  of 
taking  any  woman  literally. 

"And  you,"  I  asked,  "are  you  frank,  O  diplo 
mat?  Aren't  you  trained  in  the  art  of  concealing 
your  thoughts?" 

"Perhaps  in  the  concealment,  but  I  know  what 
I  think  very  clearly  indeed,  and  I  rarely  say  what 
I  do  not  mean." 

"But  you  refrain  from  saying  all  you  mean." 
86 


DIPLOMACY    in    the    FOREST 

"Of  course.  But  does  a  woman  say  what  she 
means?" 

"She  is  apt  to  say  what  she  thinks,  but  not  what 
she  feels." 

"That  is  why,  no  doubt,  woman  remains  an 
enigma,  for  she  is  what  she  feels,  rather  than 
what  she  thinks." 

"She  is  certainly  governed  by  feeling,"  I  ad 
mitted. 

"And  sometimes  by  what  a  man  feels  toward 
her?"  he  asked. 

"Perhaps.  When  persuaded  of  his  sin 
cerity." 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's 
thought.  "What  do  you  say  to  a  bargain?  If  I 
will  try  to  say  more  frankly  what  I  think,  will  you 
say  more  sincerely  what  you  feel?  We  might 
come  really  to  know  each  other,  and  that  might 
prove  interesting." 

I  sifted  the  pine  needles  through  my  fingers, 
reflecting.  I  felt  as  though  he  was  trying  a  key 
in  the  rusty  lock  of  a  door,  long  closed.  What 
thought  lay  concealed  behind  his  proposition  ? 
Experiments  with  human  nature  were  a  necessary 
part  of  his  education.  Why  should  I  lend  myself 

87 


The   HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

as  a  cog  for  the  wheel  by  which  he  climbed  to  wis 
dom?  I  shook  my  head. 

"It  wouldn't  be  worth  while,"  I  said.  "I  can 
not  express  what  I  do  not  know.  The  masculine 
mind  could  never  grasp  the  extent  of  outside  in 
fluences.  Why!  the  effect  of  a  costume,  the  lilt  of 
music,  the  coloring  of  a  room,  the  posture  of  one's 
footman  on  the  box,  the  greeting  of  a  friend,  can 
change  a  woman  from  grave  to  gay;  from  content 
to  irritation;  from  sympathy  to  cruelty." 

"Then  you  contend  that  what  men  like  or  dis 
like  in  woman  is  merely  the  reflection  of  circum 
stance?" 

"To  an  extent,  yes!  If  Cleopatra  had  lived  in 
a  hall  bedroom,  and  received  Antony  in  a  fifty- 
cent  shirtwaist,  would  Antony  have  counted  the 
world  well  lost  for  her  sake?" 

"You  surely  don't  believe  that  love  is  a  wraith 
of  reflected  impressions?" 

"I  do  believe  that,  aside  from  propinquity,  the 
allurement  of  environment  has  everything  to  do 
with  so-called  love  between  people  of  our  station 
in  life." 

"Then  you  think  I  could  never  have  fallen  in 
love  with  you,  in  cap  and  apron?" 


DIPLOMACY    in    the    FOREST 

"I  have  never  considered  the  subject,  kind 
sir." 

"Well,  suppose  you  allow  your  mind  to  dwell 
on  such  a  possibility." 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,"  said  I. 

"Don't  be  flippant  regarding  serious  matters," 
said  he. 

"But  you  knew  I  wasn't." 

"I  admit  it,  but  I  didn't  fall  in  love  with  you  at 
Buckingham,  did  I?  Mind!  I  don't  say  now 
that  I'm " 

I  laughed,  and  raised  clasped  hands  beseech 
ingly. 

"Spare  me!  Don't  be  unkind  and  tell  me  you 
can't " 

He  regarded  me  gravely. 

"I  am  endeavoring  to  overcome  the  habit  of 
concealing  my  thoughts ;  yet  you " 

"Very  well,"  I  broke  in.  "I  will  set  you  a 
good  example,  and  tell  you  just  how  I — feel." 

"At  last!"  he  said,  with  eager  animation. 
"What  do  you  feel?" 

"Hunger!"  I  said  soulfully. 

"For  what?" 

"For  buttered  toast  and  tea,"  said  I. 
89 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

For  a  moment  he  regarded  me  silently,  then 
pointed  a  scornful  finger. 

"You  are  a  disappointing,  materialistic,  illusive 
young  woman,  and " 

"And  you  are  an  artful  dodger,  and  a  credit  to 
diplomacy,"  said  I. 


CHAPTER  V 

BEAUTY     IN     MASKS 

GRAY  skies,  dripping  trees,  sodden  garden 
without.  Within,  a  cosy  fire  in  the  great 
library,  a  noble  room  with  vaulted  ceil 
ing  two  stories  high,  and  walls  lined  with  books 
one  had  always  longed  to  own  and  read,  the  li 
brary  of  a  student  of  cultivated  taste.  Alwyn, 
with  Marianne  and  Coco,  the  schoolmaster's  chil 
dren,  turning  apples  suspended  on  strings  before 
the  fire.  Margaret,  Lillian,  and  I  about  the  table. 
A  scene  of  domestic  virtue  and  harmony. 

We  had  played  "Maud  Muller"  the  day  be 
fore.  Tossing  hay,  while  conducive  toward  pre 
serving  that  slenderness  demanded  by  fashion,  is 
not  conducive  toward  preserving  delicate  com 
plexions,  and  we  (that  is,  Lillian  and  I)  had  awak 
ened  the  following  morning  with  peeling  noses. 

As  our  guest  had  departed  several  days  previ 
ously,  we  were  free  to  utilize  any  external  cure. 
Hildegarde,  from  her  store  of  wisdom,  suggested 

91 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

a  mixture  of  healing  herbs  with  which  to  steam 
our  faces.  We  had  inveigled  Margaret,  also,  into 
this  "beauty  treatment,"  so  she  had  joined  us, 
as,  under  the  Treasure's  direction,  we  concealed 
our  fair  features  behind  white  cotton  masks. 
Two  jagged  holes  and  a  slit  for  our  mouths  were 
the  only  outward  signs  of  inward  grace.  In  the 
center  of  the  table  was  the  steaming  bowl  of 
tisane,  in  which  from  time  to  time  \ve  dipped  our 
facial  coverings. 

Margaret,  to  pass  the  time,  read  aloud  from 
Plato,  whose  love  of  beauty  fitted  well  with  our 
pursuit  of  it.  Aristotle,  from  his  perch,  chattered 
approvingly,  no  doubt  finding  the  philosophy  of 
his  departed  confrere  to  his  taste.  That  we  looked 
like  a  band  of  "Ku-Klux"  prepared  for  a  raid 
must  be  admitted,  and  we  would,  no  doubt,  have 
struck  terror  to  any  on-looker.  But  the  sanctity 
of  our  domestic  hearth  was  in  no  possible  danger 
of  invasion  on  such  a  day,  and  we  reveled  in  a 
sense  of  complete  freedom. 

"It  is  stiffening  work,"  said  Lillian  from  be 
hind  her  mask,  which  was  plastered  to  her  face 
like  a  second  skin. 

"And  I'm  as  hoarse  as  a  crow,"  said  Margaret, 
92 


BEAUTY    in    MASKS 


through  her  slit  of  wet  cotton.  "If  Plato  and 
Socrates  ever  said  half  they  are  claimed  to  have 
said,  they  must  have  suffered  from  chronic  bron 
chitis." 

"Yet  they  say  Xantippe  was  a  vixen  with  her 
tongue  and  made  poor  Socrates's  life  a  burden," 
said  I. 

"Don't  see  when  he  left  her  any  chance  to  wag 
it,"  said  Lillian. 

"It's  odd,"  said  I,  "how  history  always  has  so 
much  to  record  of  what  Man  says,  yet  brands 
Woman  as  the  chatterbox." 

"Perhaps  it  is  a  case  of  quality  versus  quan 
tity,"  said  Margaret.  "The  head  of  a  great  pub 
lishing  house  told  me  that  no  man  will  ever  know 
how  much  a  woman  can  say  without  expressing  an 
idea,  until  he  becomes  a  'reader'  of  manuscripts. 
She  appears  to  take  the  dictionary  and  utilize  its 
contents  as  though  words  were  blocks  in  a  jigsaw 
picture-puzzle." 

A  flutter  of  flapping  wings  drowned  the  words. 

"Go  to  the  devil!  Go  to  the  devil!"  screamed 
Aristotle. 

We  turned  our  masked  and  hideous  faces.  Lo  ! 
there  in  the  doorway  stood — the  Mayor's  Wife! 

93 


We  sat  rooted  to  our  chairs,  while  again  Aris 
totle  swayed  toward  that  neat,  grim  apparition, 
screaming:  "Go  to  the  devil!" 

Luckily  Aristotle  did  not  speak  French.  There 
she  stood,  paling  with  fear,  evidently  assured  she 
had  entered  a  lunatic  asylum.  She  stared  from 
us  to  the  steaming  votive  offering  to  Venus  upon 
the  table.  It  was  a  moment  fraught  with  anguish, 
in  which  we  sank  to  a  bottomless  pit  of  humilia 
tion. 

Out  of  this  pit  Margaret  was  the  first  to  rise  to 
meet  our  guest  and  the  exigencies  of  the  situation. 
With  superb  composure  she  went  forward,  de 
taching  her  mask,  while  we  did  the  same  in  the 
background. 

"We  beg  you  to  pardon  this  confusion,"  said 
Margaret  suavely,  conducting  our  guest  to  a 
chair.  "We  were  sunburned,  and  endeavored  to 
combine  cure  with  the  cultivation  of  our  minds." 

The  Mayoress  smoothed  out  her  bombazine 
front  breadth  with  large,  black-gloved  hands.  Jet 
blackberries  on  her  diminutive  bonnet  trembled  in 
the  firelight.  She  was  evidently  unnerved. 

"It  has  been  many  years  since  there  were  such 
amusements  in  this  house,"  she  replied,  in  a  deep 

94 


"Aristotle  swayed  toward  that  neat,  grim  apparition,  scream 
ing  :     'Go  to  the  devil !'  " 

voice.  "The  old  Countess  was  a  serious  woman, 
and  most  careful  to  set  an  example  of  decorum." 

"But  the  French  are  so  delightfully  gay,"  I 
said,  with  my  sweetest  smile.  "They  are  an  ex 
ample  to  all  the  world.  I  have  been  told  that  a 
Seigneur  of  this  house  went  to  the  scaffold  hum 
ming  a  gay  chanson,  and  laid  his  head  upon  the 
block,  saying  that  he  had  lost  his  head  many  times 
to  lovely  woman,  but  never  before  to  man!" 

"A  most  unseemly  story,  and  undoubtedly  fic 
tion,"  replied  our  guest,  unmelted.  "I  doubt  if 

95 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

any  gentleman  of  so  respectable  a  house  ever  en 
tered  the  presence  of  his  Maker  with  a  jest." 

"But  there  must  be  many  stories  which  are  in 
teresting  and  not  unseemly,"  said  Lillian.  "You 
must  feel  a  personal  pride  in  a  family  which  did 
so  much  good  and  gained  such  distinction." 

"Of  course,  in  a  way;  but  my  time  is  too  occu 
pied  with  serious  matters  to  think  of  the  dead. 
They  are  gone;  wre  are  here,  and  it  behooves  us 
not  to  waste  time  in  useless  mirth  and  vain  mem 
ories." 

She  gazed  into  the  fire  as  though  we  were  not. 
Then  I  saw  her  eye  wrander  to  my  boy  and  rest 
there  with  sudden  intensity,  which  held  me  watch 
ing,  too.  The  grim  face  changed.  Hunger,  envy, 
crept  like  shadows  from  the  hard  eyes  and  settled 
in  lines  about  the  mouth,  as  though  something 
baffled  struggled  up  from  depths  long  unstirred. 
Lillian  was  speaking,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  hear. 

I,  too,  looked  at  Alwyn.  He  leaned  against 
the  corner  of  the  carved  stone  cheminee,  the  fire 
light  throwing  into  relief  the  perfection  of  his 
slender  body,  sturdy  limbs,  straight  back,  and  the 
beauty  of  his  face,  with  brown  eyes  set  wide  apart 
beneath  the  pure  forehead,  the  dimpled  chin,  rosy 

96 


BEAUTY    in    MASKS 


cheeks  half  shaded  by  dark  hair,  cut  Russian  fash 
ion — a  perfect  child,  from  crown  to  heel,  distinc 
tion,  grace  and  glowing  health  in  every  line  and 
tint.  I  saw  Jean's  mother  devour  my  son's  beauty 
with  jealous,  longing  eyes.  The  fierce  agony 
which  gleamed  deep  in  those  black  eyes  belied  the 
rumor  that  she  did  not  love  her  son.  I  longed  to 
put  my  arms  about  that  piteous  mother.  No 
wonder  she  was  grim  and  bitter. 

Alwyn  felt  her  glance,  and  came  and  leaned 
against  my  knee,  holding  out  to  her  his  roasted 
apple. 

"Won't  you  have  it?"  he  asked.  "It's  sticky, 
but  I'll  hold  it  while  you  bite." 

Her  face  softened. 

"Thank  you,  child,  but  apples  on  an  empty 
stomach  are  a  challenge  to  digestion.  You  eat 
it." 

"Thank  you,  but  I've  eaten  seven  already,  and 
even  my  legs  feel  full.  But  I  like  those  berries  on 
your  bonnet.  They  grow  all  over  the  walls  here, 
but  nobody  but  me  eats  them.  A  man  told  me  I'd 
be  cursed  because  I  ate  some." 

"Quite  right,  my  child,"  said  the  Mayoress. 
"Never,  never  put  one  into  thy  mouth.  Our  good 

97 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

Lord  was  crowned  with  them,  and  that  is  why 
they  turn  from  red  to  black." 

"Perhaps  they  did  curse  me,"  replied  Alwyn, 
"for  they  gave  me  an  awful  pain  here,"  indicating 
his  waist  line.  "But  they  were  green.  Do  they 
curse  when  they're  green?" 

"Very  apt  to,  my  son,"  I  replied. 

The  Mayoress  was  digging  into  the  interior  of 
her  velvet  hand-bag,  and,  after  much  travail, 
brought  forth  a  sou.  She  held  it  up. 

"This  is  for  thee,"  she  said.  "I  trust  that  thou 
art  sensible  with  thy  money." 

"Very,"  Alwyn  assured  her,  eyeing  the  sou 
wistfully.  "But  Dear  never  lets  me  take  money 
from  strangers." 

"But  she  is  your  friend,  not  a  stranger,"  I  has 
tened  to  say.  "You  may  take  it  with  pleasure." 

He  took  the  sou  and  kissed  the  black  glove 
prettily. 

"I'll  put  it  in  the  bank  in  New  York,"  he  said, 
"where  the  dollars  all  have  young  ones." 

"That  is  a  good  child,"  commended  his  bene 
factress.  She  lifted  the  rounded  chin. 

"Didn't  I  see  you  fishing  one  day?" 

"Yes !  with  such  a  nice  chap.  His  name  is  Jean. 
98 


BEAUTY    in    MASKS 


He  likes  me  and  Henriette.  Perhaps  you  know 
him.  They  say  his  mother  isn't  nice  to  him." 

The  beady  eyes  searched  my  son's  face  with 
piercing  scrutiny,  while  my  blood  congealed,  but 
Alwyn's  charming  face  remained  innocently 
placid. 

"There  are  many  Jeans,"  I  said  hastily,  "and 
no  mother  can  possibly  be  anything  but  kind  to 
her  son." 

"You  are  quite  right,  Madame.  Justice  is 
often  taken  for  severity.  This  Jean  may  be  un- 
dutiful." 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Alwyn  earnestly.  "He  is  a  nice 
one.  He  went  to  Manteuil  yesterday  and  brought 
back  a  grown-up  fishing  rod  for  me,  and  a  box  of 
candies  for  Henriette.  I'm  sure  you  would  like 
him." 

Suspicion  darkened  to  certainty  on  the  large 
visage  before  me. 

"Alwyn,"  I  hurriedly  interrupted,  "won't  you 
run  and  tell  Marie  to  serve  tea?  We  are  all 
hungry.  You  can  have  yours  with  the  children  in 
the  dining-room." 

He  ran  from  the  room,  the  children  at  his 
heels.  I  drew  a  sigh  of  relief.  An  awkward 

99 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

pause  ensued,  broken  by  a  novel  sound.  Some 
thing  rolled  and  rumbled  on  the  marble  pavement 
of  the  hall.  The  door  flew  open,  and  in  rolled 
our  tea,  not  on  a  plebeian  tray,  but  on  four  gilded 
wheels,  surmounted  by  a  double-decked  enameled 
table,  on  which  sparkled  the  tea  accoutrements. 

Marie,  flushed  with  pride,  wheeled  the  pretty 
affair  before  Margaret  and  withdrew,  while  we 
suppressed  our  surprise  and  proceeded  to  press 
scones  and  honey  upon  our  guest. 

She  was  plainly  at  a  loss  to  understand  this  re 
past,  uncertain  as  to  whether  it  was  luncheon  or 
dinner.  But  large  amounts  of  nourishment  dis 
appeared  between  her  thin  lips  while  we  chattered 
heroically.  At  last  she  rose,  scattering  crumbs 
broadcast.  We  accompanied  her  in  a  body  to  the 
door.  If  her  reception  had  lacked  ceremony,  her 
departure  should  not  fail  in  courtesy. 

At  the  door  she  paused. 

"I  shall  hope  to  see  the  ladies  soon.  If  I  can 
be  of  service,  pray  command  me.  But  may  I  be 
permitted  to  suggest  that  your  domestics  remain 
as  much  as  possible  within  your  grounds,  espe 
cially  the  small,  blonde  person,  who  is  prone  to 
gossip  in  the  village.  She  has  a  somewhat  flighty 

100 


BEAUTY    in    MASKS 


manner,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  speak  frankly. 
The  young  are  better  employed  than  wasting  the 
time  of  others." 

Margaret  murmured  something  vague,  and  the 
Mayoress  sailed  away,  her  black  draperies  sweep 
ing  the  cobbles  with  haughty  dignity. 

"There!  what  did  I  tell  you?"  said  I.  "You 
will  admit  that  if  we  don't  crush  her,  we  are  lost." 

"She  must  be  made  to  bite  the  dust!"  said  Lil 
lian. 

Margaret  looked  solemn. 

"When  we  return  her  visit,  see  to  it  that  our 
costumes,  manners,  and  conversation  are  without 
blemish." 

"And  where  did  that  adorable  tea-wagon  come 
from?"  asked  Lillian. 

"Perhaps  Hildegarde  will  know,"  said  I. 

The  Treasure  blushingly  admitted  having  been 
the  donor. 

"It  was  I  who  made  it,"  she  explained,  "that 
the  honorable  ladies  might  be  served  promptly 
anywhere  in  the  house  or  park.  Marie  has  orders 
to  serve  it  exactly  at  five,  wherever  the  ladies  may 
be.  The  making  of  it  was  quite  simple.  The 
wheels  are  from  the  perambulator  of  Madame 
8  101 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

Philon,  which  I  painted  with  gold  paint.  The 
body  of  it  did  I  burn  in  the  kitchen  stove,  not  be 
ing  of  a  cleanliness  to  preserve.  The  table  Isi 
dore  did  make,  and  painted  it  with  enamel  paint. 
Having  greased  the  inner  parts,  which  did  cry 
from  stiffness,  all  was  done.  I  am  pleased  if  it 
gives  pleasure  to  the  honorable  ladies." 

We  thanked  our  Treasure,  little  knowing  what 
havoc  that  table  was  to  work  in  the  near  future. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE     ARCHANGEL 

FOR  several  days  Margaret  had  been  other 
wise  than  her  cheerful  self.      Luncheon- 
time  found  her  abstracted,  tea-time  irri 
table,  and  dinner  dumb.     Puckers  appeared  upon 
her  gifted  brow,  and  her  speech  acquired  the  fla 
vor  of  pickles,  persimmons  and  red  pepper.    That 
something  was  amiss  was  evident,  but  Lillian  and 
I  remained  prudently  silent,  realizing  that  genius, 
like  dynamite,  had  better  be  left  alone. 

At  last  one  day  Margaret  did  not  go  to  her 
studio  at  all,  but  paced  to  and  fro  in  the  Linden 
Walk  between  mail  hours,  one  eye  on  the  gate 
leading  to  the  court.  Was  it  possible  that  she  was 
in  love,  and  that  Cupid  was  mismanaging  mat 
ters?  When  we  were  sitting  about  our  tea-wagon 
in  a  distant  corner  of  the  park,  Henriette  ap 
peared  with  a  telegram.  We  saw  Margaret's  ex 
pression  of  abstracted  worry  change  to  one  of 
rapture,  as  she  waved  the  bit  of  blue  paper  tri 
umphantly. 

103 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

"He  is  found!     He  is  found  at  last!" 

"Who  is  found?"  we  demanded. 

"My  Archangel." 

"Didn't  know  you  had  one,"  I  said,  with  some 
irritation.  "Where  do  you  keep  him?  In  cold 
storage,  and  did  he  get  out?" 

"Bud  found  him,"  she  said.  "He  is  always  so 
satisfactory." 

"Really,  Margaret,"  I  remarked,  with  pardon 
able  impatience,  "please  be  less  enigmatical.  We 
have  reached  the  limit  of  our  self-control,  and  if 
you  don't  tell  us  what  is  going  on  inside  that  cere 
brum  of  yours,  we'll  scalp  you  to  find  out." 

She  regarded  us  as  though  waking  from  a  Rip 
Van  Winkle  sleep. 

"You  poor  children  !  You  have  been  good,  and 
shall  know  it  all.  It  is  the  central  figure  of  my 
ceiling.  It  is  an  Archangel,  a  being  of  eternal 
youth,  his  face  like  the  morning,  exalted,  and  of 
supreme  beauty.  That  is  to  say,  he  is  all  this  in 
my  own  inner  consciousness.  But,  like  a  shy 
chicken,  he  refused  to  come  out  from  the  shell  of 
my  brain,  and  I  have  been  in  utter  despair.  So  I 
wrote  to  several  artists  in  London  and  Paris,  and 
also  to  Bud,  for  a  model  embodying  these  quali- 

104 


The    ARCHANGEL 


ties.  I  had  only  one  answer,  from  Sargent,  say 
ing  that  he  expected  to  go  to  Heaven  ere  long,  and 
would  send  me  what  I  wanted  from  there  with 
pleasure,  if  Wisconsin  and  I  would  wait.  But 
Bud,  bless  his  heart,  telegraphs  he  has  found  ex 
actly  what  I  want  in  London,  and  he  will  arrive 
here  to-day." 

"On  a  chariot  of  fire?"  I  asked. 

"By  train,"  she  replied  imperturbably,  "which 
amounts  to  the  same  thing." 

That  evening  at  dinner,  Marie,  who  had  van 
ished  with  our  soup-plates,  reappeared,  not  with 
fish,  but  with  an  excited  countenance  and  a  note, 
saying:  "Monsieur  is  waiting." 

Margaret  read  aloud  the  following  missive: 

"DEAREST  OF  PALS: 

"This  introduces  to  you  Faustino  di  Montur- 
bia,  alias  Archangel  of  Wisconsin.  Be  kind  to 
him,  but  not  too  kind.  His  moral  qualities  are  of 
an  excellence  to  match  his  physical  perfection. 
More  I  cannot  tell  you,  and  do  not  ask.  En 
throne  him  upon  Olympus  and  bid  him  go  in 
peace.  My  kindest  remembrances  to  your 
guests, 

"And  believe  me,  as  always,  your  affectionate 

"BUD." 

105 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

"How  delightfully  mysterious!"  said  she.  "It 
sounds  like  the  Police  Gazette." 

"I  am  sure  he  is  an  anarchist  and  has  bombs 
in  his  coat-tail  pockets,"  said  I. 

We  heard  steps  along  the  corridor,  and  there 
appeared  upon  the  threshold,  hugging  the 
shadows,  a  slender  individual  in  a  black  frock- 
coat  and  spectacles,  for  all  the  world  like  a  Meth 
odist  parson,  save  for  a  violent  pair  of  plaid 
trousers  which  flared  over  his  high-heeled  boots. 
He  was  about  thirty,  well-built,  with  finely  mod 
eled  head  and  features  of  classic  outline. 

He  presented  himself  politely  as  Faustino  di 
Monturbia,  and  eyed  our  pretty  table  with  hungry 
eyes.  Margaret  looked  disappointed,  but,  with 
an  eye  on  his  "lines,"  arranged  for  him  to  get  his 
dinner  in  the  kitchen  and  to  sleep  at  the  school 
master's.  To  all  this  he  smilingly  agreed,  prom 
ising  to  appear  at  the  studio  promptly  at  eight  on 
the  following  morning. 

On  descending  the  next  day  lazily  at  ten,  I 
peeped  in  at  the  studio  door  to  see  how  matters 
were  progressing,  but  no  model  was  there.  Mar 
garet  turned  a  disgusted  face  on  me. 

"He  hasn't  come.  If  he  is  going  to  oversleep 
1 06 


himself  like   this,   he   can   trot   straight   back   to 
Paris." 

I  offered  to  run  over  to  the  school  and  rouse 


"He  presented  himself  politely  as  Faustino  di  Monturbia." 

the  delinquent.  But,  on  reaching  there,  I  was  told 
he  had  left  the  house  two  hours  before  for  the 
chateau,  but  had  stopped  en  route  at  the  grocer's. 

107 


The  plot  thickened.  I  went  on  to  the  grocer's, 
who  admitted  having  sold  him  sausage,  a  bottle  of 
wine,  and  some  bread.  The  black-coated  gentle 
man  had  then  gone  on  toward  the  chateau.  I 
returned  to  Margaret,  confident  the  delinquent 
model  would  be  found  there,  but  she  was  still 
alone,  painting  in  clouds  around  charcoal  outlines 
of  the  missing  Archangel. 

We  reluctantly  decided  that  the  job  had  not 
proved  to  his  taste,  and  that  he  had  fled  to  Pa 
risian  boulevards,  where  his  gay  trousers  would 
be  among  more  appropriate  surroundings. 

That  evening,  while  at  dinner,  Marie  an 
nounced,  with  a  bewildered  air,  another  masculine 
arrival  within  our  gates, 

"Another  horrid  Italian,"  said  Lillian.  "He'll 
smell  of  garlic,  too,  and  will  knife  us  if  his  mac 
aroni  isn't  cooked  to  suit  him." 

"Show  him  in,"  said  Margaret.  "It  never  rains 
but  it  pours." 

A  manly  stride  was  heard  in  the  main  hall.  This 
visitor  had  not  elected  to  enter  by  way  of  the 
kitchen.  We  heard  parleying,  and  Marie  returned 
alone,  to  say  that  Monsieur  begged  to  be  excused 
for  disturbing  the  ladies,  and  would  wait. 

108 


The    ARCHANGEL 


But  Margaret  insisted  that  he  come  in,  as 
doubtless  he  was  hungry  for  his  dinner,  which  he 
would  eat  with  the  servants.  Marie  then  ushered 
in  our  second  visitor,  who  hugged  not  the  shadows, 
but  came  forward  into  the  light. 

Margaret,  as  though  impelled,  rose  to  her  feet. 
I  saw  Lillian's  eyes  dilate  strangely,  and  turned. 

There  stood  the  Archangel,  rightly  named.  Ex 
cept  on  a  Greek  bas-relief,  never  had  I  seen  such 
perfection  of  beauty.  He  was  about  twenty-five. 
His  head  was  of  classic  nobility;  a  low  brow,  from 
which  the  dark  hair  was  swept  back  as  though  by 
wind  in  rapid  flight;  nose,  mouth,  and  chin  su 
perbly  modeled.  Yet  this  perfection  of  beauty  did 
not  cloy.  There  was  dignity  and  intelligence  in 
the  young  face;  a  look  of  knowledge  beyond  his 
years,  as  though  Life  had  used  him  ill,  and  worn 
physical  perfection  to  human  level.  The  manli 
ness  of  him  winced  at  our  poorly-concealed  ad 
miration. 

That  he  was  a  gentleman  was  evident,  in  spite 
of  his  worn  clothes.  It  had  drawn  Margaret  to 
her  feet,  as  hostess,  to  greet  her  guest.  I  foresaw 
that,  wherever  this  youth  was  to  dine,  it  would 
not  be  with  the  servants.  The  situation  was  be- 

109 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

coming  complicated.  I  glanced  at  Lillian.  She 
was  calmly  eating  fish,  as  though  no  god  had  de 
scended  among  mortals. 

Our  visitor  bowed  inclusively  to  us  all. 

"I  am  come  from  Lord  Ashburne.  My  name 
is  Faustino  di  Monturbia." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Margaret,  "did  I  un 
derstand  you  to  say  that  your  name  is  Faustino  di 
Monturbia?" 

"Yes,  Madame,"  with  a  puzzled  glance  at  our 
bewildered  faces. 

"Fraud!"  I  murmured  rudely  in  English.  "I 
thought  he  looked  too  good  to  be  true." 

"There  is  some  extraordinary  mistake,"  said 
Margaret.  "A  young  man  by  your  name  came 
here  last  night  with  a  letter  from  Lord  Ashburne, 
but  he  left  this  morning." 

A  slow  flush  dyed  the  Greek  face  before  us, 
while  two  honest  eyes  searched  our  faces. 

"I  am  what  I  say  I  am,  Madame,"  he  said, 
somewhat  haughtily.  "I  had  a  letter  here,"  touch 
ing  his  outer  pocket.  "If  the  young  man  was  dark, 
with  curious  trousers,  then  I  know.  He  was  a 
lodger  where  I  slept  in  Paris — not  a  nice  place, 
as  I  have  not  money.  But,  both  being  Italians,  we 

no 


"  'My  name  is  Faustino  di  Monturbia.' " 

talked  together,  and  I  told  him  some  matters,  be 
ing  lonely.  He  knew  I  was  coming  here,  and  that 
you  had  never  seen  me.  It  must  have  been,  he 
who  took  my  letter." 

"Undoubtedly  that  was  it,"  said  Margaret. 
"He  was  a  fraud,  got  scared,  and  ran  away." 

Monturbia  was  looking  through  a  battered  wal 
let,  and  looked  up  happily  as  he  handed  Margaret 
another  letter.  But,  in  the  act,  he  drew  back,  took 
the  letter  from  its  envelope,  and  then  gave  the 
sheet  to  her. 

in 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

"How  fortunate,"  he  said,  "that  I  have  an 
other  letter  from  my  friend.  Please  read  it, 
Madame." 

"  'Dear  Faustino,'  "  Margaret  read  aloud. 
'Just  a  line  to  wish  you  luck.  The  rest  will  do 
you  good.  Forget  everything  except  that  you  are 
young  and  that,  as  Huxley  said,  "Science  is  not 
Christianity  or  anti-Christianity,  only  extra  Chris 
tianity."  Let  the  wound  heal,  and  gather  strength 
for  the  time  when  youth's  Summer  shall  have 
passed.  Good  luck,  dear  old  chap,  and  never  cease 
to  remember  that  I  am  your  friend,  Ashburne.'  ' 

"You  see,"  he  said  wistfully,  though  with  pride, 
"he  is  my  friend." 

Margaret,  always  royal  in  her  generosity,  put 
out  her  hand  to  the  brown  one  which  met  it  more 
than  halfway. 

"He  is  your  friend,  Monsieur?  Then  I  am, 
also.  But  come  and  dine.  The  maid  will  show 
you  upstairs,  where  you  can  get  rid  of  dust,  and 
then  join  us  here." 

When  he  had  disappeared,  our  tongues  wagged. 
Who  was  he  ?  What  was  his  history?  For  a  place 
where  nothing  was  to  happen,  we  certainly  had 
our  excitements. 

I  12 


The    ARCHANGEL 


"He  is  a  dear  boy,"  said  Margaret,  "and  I 
won't  hear  one  word  against  him." 

"Where  is  he  to  sleep?  In  the  best  guest 
room?"  I  asked. 

"Why  not?"  said  Margaret. 

"Of  course,  as  you  like.  But  where  will  be  our 
liberty?  How  can  we  dry  our  hair  on  the  lawn 
and  dine  in  tea-gowns?  Besides,  we  know  noth 
ing  about  him  beyond  his  name.  Your  friend 
Bud  is  distinctly  vague.  It  is  self-evident  that  he 
is  poor,  but  poverty  isn't  always  respectable." 

"We  have  so  much  respectability  of  our  own," 
said  Lillian,  "it  wouldn't  hurt  us  to  lend  him  some. 
Besides,  Art  isn't  usually  respectable,  is  it?" 

"That  is  quite  irrelevant,  my  dear,"  said  Mar 
garet.  "Your  cousin  is  right.  'We  are  seven,'  as 
saith  the  poet.  It  is  a  lucky  number.  An  eighth 
might  prevent  the  gods  giving  all  that  should  be 
coming  to  us." 

"Then  he'll  have  to  go  to  the  schoolmaster's." 

"Yes!"  said  Margaret,  "and  they  can  exchange 
languages." 

During  dinner  our  guest  was  silent,  save  for 
courteous  replies.  He  told  us  he  had  found  Lon 
don  too  big  and  orderly. 


The   HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

"Nobody  laughs  there,"  he  said.  "They  seem 
to  regard  it  as  a  weakness,  or  is  it  that  they  see 
nothing  to  laugh  at?" 

"They  are  too  busy  being  superior,"  said  I. 
"That  is  a  pity,"  he  replied.  "We  have  a  say 
ing  that  it  is  only  the  fool  who  considers  himself 
wise.  Their  strength  is  honesty,  for  in  this  age  of 
political  subtleties  no  one  is  believed,  and  in  Italy 
we  use  words  to  hide  our  intentions,  not  to  express 
them." 

He  then  went  to  to  speak  of  Italian  poli 
tics,  and  showed  a  surprising  intimacy  with  the 
Vatican,  and  more  especially  with  Merry  del 
Val. 

"The  Powers  should  remember,"  he  said,  "that 
in  the  Vatican  there  are  statesmen — not  politicians 
— each  with  a  brain  of  superior  acumen.  Each 
works,  not  for  'graft,'  but  for  one  impersonal  end 
— the  Church.  No  Government,  not  excepting 
Russia,  has  so  perfected  a  system  of  espionage. 
The  Pope  calls  himself  a  prisoner,  but  no  man 
living  is  so  well-informed  of  the  secrets  of  other 
Powers.  Their  organization  is  matchless,  their 
ambition  boundless,  and  their  methods- 
Fancying  I  detected  a  note  of  more  than  com- 
114 


The    ARCHANGEL 


mon  feeling  regarding  the  influence  of  the  Church, 
I  asked  him  if  Italians,  as  a  whole,  remained  faith 
ful  to  the  Temporal  Power  idea.  But  he  answered 
evasively,  as  though  having  lost  interest  in  the 
subject.  It  was  early  when  he  excused  himself, 
honoring  each  of  us  with  a  deep  bow,  heels  close 
together.  Margaret's  hand  he  kissed  with  defer 
ential  courtesy. 

It  was  midnight  when  we  went  upstairs.  The 
long  corridor  on  which  all  the  rooms  opened  was 
full  of  flickering  shadows  from  the  moonlit  trees 
in  the  court.  Lillian  came  to  my  room,  and  lin 
gered,  perched  on  the  window-sill.  She  said  but 
little.  Alwyn  stirred  in  his  sleep,  and  she  went  to 
his  bed,  looking  down  at  the  careless  grace  of  his 
sleep  in  an  abstracted  fashion. 

"He  doesn't  seem  happy,"  she  said. 

"Not  happy!"  I  exclaimed,  turning  hurriedly. 

"Oh!  I  didn't  mean  Alwyn.  I  was  thinking  of 
Mr.  Monturbia.  He  seemed — er — he  seemed  as 
though  he,  the  real  he,  wasn't  here  at  all.  I 
wonder  where  the  real  man  is.  It  was  only 
his  ears  which  heard  what  we  said  to-night, 
not  his  mind.  That  was  somewhere  else,  where 
trouble  is." 


The   HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

I  looked  at  the  girl,  surprised.  During  dinner 
she  had  appeared  hardly  to  notice  him.  I  drew 
her  fair  head  to  my  shoulder  as  we  stood  at  the 
window. 

"Don't  you  worry  your  gentle  heart  over  that 
young  man's  troubles.  Your  instinct  to  mistrust  a 
Latin  is  correct.  They  have  not,  as  a  rule,  the 
excellent  morality  of  Bridgeport,  Massachusetts. 
Folly  is  their  one  fidelity.  He  is  too  young  and 
too  good-looking  not  to  have  been  in  more  mis 
chief  than  you  ever  dreamed  of.  While  he  is  here 
he  must  stick  to  business.  As  long  as  his  body 
fulfills  Margaret's  requirements,  where  his  mind 
may  be  doesn't  concern  us." 

Lillian  stroked  my  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"You  see,  I  don't  want  to  be  narrow.  You  said 
it  was  one  of  my  faults.  I  am  beginning  to  realize 
that  Rome  may  be  as  interesting  as  Boston,  and 
that  virtue  is  often  a  matter  of  taste.  You  have 
often  said  that  intolerance  is  ignorance,  and  that 
'de  tout  comprendre  est  de  tout  pardonner.'  ' 

I  took  the  sweet  face  between  my  hands  and 
kissed  it. 

"You  run  away  to  bed,  child.  Leave  wisdom 
to  the  Ages.  A  German  once  said:  'Where 

116 


The    ARCHANGEL 


there  is  Faith,  there  is  Love.  Where  there  is 
Love,  there  is  God.  Where  God  is,  there  is 
no  need.'  ' 

She  blew  me  a  kiss  from  her  finger-tips  as  she 
passed  out,  and  that  was  all  her  answer  to  my 
moral  lecture. 

It  was  some  time  before  my  tired  eyes  closed. 
The  silence  was  profound.  Alwyn  tossed  and 
turned  in  his  sleep,  for  the  heat  was  oppressive. 
The  usual  sounds  of  a  summer's  night  were  ab 
sent.  Even  the  oratorical  powers  of  the  frogs 
were  hushed  by  the  atmospheric  pressure. 

At  last  I  dozed  off,  when  suddenly  I  was  broad 
awake,  as  though  something  called.  The  moon 
was  gone,  and  heavy  darkness  hung  over  the  out 
side  world.  I  sat  up  in  bed,  listening,  but  the  im 
agined  cry  was  not  repeated.  Fancying  it  had 
been  a  dream,  I  snuggled  down  again,  but  started 
bolt  upright,  fear  clutching  my  heart.  Again  that 
faint  call;  a  muffled  whisper  against  the  keyhole 
of  my  door.  It  was  Lillian,  just  breathing  my 
name  and  gently  turning  the  door-handle.  In  a 
trice  I  pattered  across  the  floor  and  turned  the 
key.  Lillian  stood  there.  She  swiftly  entered, 
and  softly  closed  the  door. 
9  117 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

"It's  a  burglar!  He  is  down  in  the  dining- 
room." 

"What!"  I  gasped.  "It  can't  be!  Such  a  thing 
was  never  heard  of  here." 

"It  is  true.     Come  with  me." 

She  clutched  my  arm,  and  quite  fearlessly  led 
me  along  the  corridor  to  the  head  of  the  stairs. 
We  crouched  there  in  the  inky  darkness,  listening. 
At  first  we  could  hear  nothing,  but  suddenly  a 
sound  crept  up  the  stair.  It  was  unmistakable. 
Someone  was  moving  softly  below,  wrhether  in  the 
hall  or  dining-room,  one  could  not  tell. 

With  finger  on  lip,  I  pulled  her  back  to  my 
room  and  closed  the  door. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  I  whispered.  "We  must 
wake  Margaret." 

"Can't  we  get  at  Isidore?" 

"No!  he  sleeps  on  the  other  side  of  the  court. 
Oh,  for  a  weapon !  I  have  nothing  but  hat-pins." 

"Come,  then,"  said  Lillian.  "We'll  wake  Mar 
garet." 

"The  wretch  is  after  the  silver,"  I  groaned. 
"But  he  will  find  half  of  it  plated,  thank  goodness. 
Perhaps  it  is  the  Archangel." 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,"  said  Lillian. 
118 


The    ARCHANGEL 


Hand  in  hand  we  stole  forth  a  second  time  and 
crept  along  the  wall,  feeling  our  way  to  Mar 
garet's  door.  Luckily  it  was  ajar.  I  barely  stifled 
a  scream  as  we  collided  with  Margaret. 

"Hush!"  she  whispered.  "I  know.  I  heard 
him.  What  shall  we  do?  He'll  be  up  here  any 
moment  for  your  jewels,  and  we're  as  helpless  as 
babes." 

"He'll  have  to  hunt,"  said  I  vindictively.  "They 
are  under  my  sponges  in  my  sponge  bag." 

"He  shall  take  nothing  at  all,  if  I  can  help  it," 
said  Margaret,  lighting  a  candle.  "We  must  get 
Hildegarde.  She  must  be  General  to  our  forces." 

Margaret  leading  the  way,  we  stole  out  of  the 
room,  and  mounted  the  spiral  stair  which  led  to 
the  servants'  quarters  in  the  granary.  It  seemed 
of  labyrinthine  vastness  up  there  under  the  eaves. 
As  we  stole  along,  the  way  was  filled  with  terrors. 
Once  I  could  have  sworn  a  figure,  bent  low,  ran 
before  us,  to  be  lost  in  the  gloom  beyond. 

At  last  we  found  Hildegarde's  door.  Even  so 
far  from  the  marauder,  we  were  loth  to  make  a 
sound,  and  gently  turned  the  handle. 

"It  is  I,"  said  Margaret  softly.     "Let  us  in." 

We  heard  her  spring  from  her  bed;  the  sound 
119 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

of  a  match  followed,  and  the  door  opened,  dis 
closing  Hildegarde,  her  blonde  head  surrounded 
by  a  halo  of  curl-papers. 

"It's  robbers!"  we  said,  in  one  breath,  as  she 
stood  blinking. 

"Really?"  she  replied  coolly.  "Will  the  honor 
able  ladies  explain  as  I  dress?" 

She  got  into  a  skimp  flannel  petticoat,  leaving  a 
yard  of  white  night-dress  visible  below,  and 
threw  a  red  worsted  shawl  about  her  shoulders, 
while  we  explained. 

"It's  that  dirty  little  Italian,"  she  cried.  "I'll 
fix  him.  We'll  wake  Henriette  and  Marie.  Six 
of  us  will  make  him  regret  having  been  born." 

With  evident  pleasure  at  the  prospective  fray, 
she  flounced  out  of  the  room,  and  in  a  moment  re 
turned  with  our  two  other  handmaidens,  rubbing 
sleepy  eyes.  Their  costumes  were  enough  to 
frighten  any  self-respecting  burglar. 

"Now!"  said  Hildegarde,  "we'll  start.  He 
won't  bother  with  the  kitchen  end  of  the  house, 
so  we  will  go  there,  and  get  something  with  which 
to  knock  him  out." 

"Lead  on!"  said  Lillian  dramatically. 

In  single  file  we  stealthily  pursued  our  way  back 
1 20 


The    ARCHANGEL 


through  the  shadows,  where  our  own,  grotesque 
and  gigantic,  sprang  to  meet  them.  As  we  passed 
Alwyn's  room,  I  looked  in.  He  was  sleeping 
peacefully.  On  his  coverlet  lay  a  huge  toy  pis 
tol,  which  I  appropriated.  It  might  at  least 
terrify. 

On  we  went  to  the  kitchen,  pausing  once  breath 
lessly  that  the  maids  might  hear  some  betraying 
sound.  And  sure  enough.  Marie's  face  grew 
livid  as  mysterious  steps  were  plainly  heard  be 
yond  the  closed  dining-room  door. 

We  hurried  on  to  the  kitchen,  where  a  copper 
warming  pan,  a  hatchet,  a  carving  knife,  a  flatiron 
and  rolling-pin  were  requisitioned.  Hildegarde, 
in  the  midst  of  these  warlike  preparations,  paused, 
with  uplifted  hands,  staring  at  the  kitchen  table. 

"My  pigeon  pie!"  she  gasped.  "And  the 
American  doughnuts!  Where  are  they?  I  left 
them  there  when  I  went  to  bed!  The  little  thief 
has  stolen  them,  and  is  eating  them  yonder,  like 
a  grand  Seigneur.  Oh !  the  scorpion !  The  devil 
of  sulphur  and  brimstone.  He  is  indeed  a  pig 
and  the  son  of  a  pig.  He  shall  rue  the  day  his 
mother  begat  him.  Mesdames,  are  you  ready? 
We  shall  fall  upon  him.  We  shall  belay  his  body 

121 


"His  mouth  opened,  and  there  issued  forth  . 
prolonged,  agonized  bray." 


.  the  familiar, 


with  our  weapons,  and  may  the  powers  of  evil  re 
ceive  his  soul." 

As  she  hissed  out  the  above,  courage  filled  our 
souls.  With  martial  step,  though  lightsomely,  we 
moved  toward  the  enemy.  At  the  threshold  of 
the  room  we  paused,  just  as  something  within  fell 
with  a  crash  which  reverberated  through  the  silent 
house.  At  the  same  instant  a  blinding  flash  of 
lightning  pierced  the  gloom.  It  bathed  the  court 
outside  in  blue  flame.  Then  darkness  fell,  as 
thunder  followed,  crackling,  terrific.  With  a 

122 


whoop  of  defiance,  the  Treasure  flung  wide  the 
door.    We  tumbled  through. 

Another  blinding  flash.  We  looked  about.  The 
enemy  was  ours!  In  the  corner  by  an  overturned 
chair,  cowering  with  fright,  was — Clemenceau, 
the  donkey !  !  ! 

As  we  stood  petrified,  his  mouth  opened,  and 
there  issued  forth,  mingled  with  thunder,  the  fa 
miliar,  prolonged,  agonized  bray. 

Our  weapons  clattered  to  the  floor. 

The  poor,  wee  beast  had  found  the  door 
opened,  and  wandered  in  for  sugar,  as  was  his 
wont. 

As  we  gathered  ourselves,  Lillian  remarked: 

"That  misjudged  youth  is  at  this  moment,  no 
doubt,  sleeping  the  sleep  of  innocence  in  his  hum 
ble  garret  in  Paris,  dreaming  of  home  and 
mother." 

Then  Hildegarde  startled  us  all  by  saying: 

"But  where  is  my  pigeon  pie?" 

"That,  my  Treasure,"  said  Margaret,  "will  re 
main  unsolved  until  to-morrow.  Perhaps  Alwyn 
ate  it." 

"And  the  American  doughnuts !"  said  Hilde 
garde. 

123 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

"He  couldn't  eat  a  whole  pigeon  pie  and  a  batch 
of  doughnuts,"  said  I,  with  natural  indignation. 

"He  was  restless  in  his  sleep,"  said  Lillian. 

"It  is  a  well-established  fact,"  said  I,  "that  two 
bodies  cannot  occupy  the  same  place  at  the  same 
time." 

"To-morrow  will  doubtless  explain  all,"  said 
Hildegarde.  "As  they  were  made  for  the  picnic, 
we  hope  they  will  be  discovered.  Of  but  one  thing 
can  we  be  certain:  they  were  not  taken  by  the  Ital 
ian  gentleman.  I  regret  having  called  him  a  pig 
and  the  son  of  a  pig.  Human  judgment  is  prone 
to  error.  I  bid  the  honorable  ladies  good  night." 


CHAPTER  VII 

A    PICNIC    AND    A    HOMECOMING 

THE  next  morning  seemed  especially  de 
signed  by  Providence  for  our  picnic.  The 
beautiful  world,  with  its  face  fresh  and 
clean,  was  decked  in  a  thousand  coquetries  of 
scent  and  color,  and  beckoned  us  early  from  our 
beds  and  dreams  of  crime. 

Three  lumbering  wagons  stood  before  our  por 
tals,  minus  their  clothes-basket  coverings.  Into 
these  were  stowed  enough  food  and  drink  (espe 
cially  drink)  to  provide  Peary  for  a  dash  to  the 
Pole.  However,  our  steed  didn't  appear  likely  to 
"dash"  anywhere.  The  pie  and  doughnuts  were, 
alas !  still  a  minus  quantity,  the  mystery  unex 
plained.  Alwyn  had  denied  all  knowledge  of 
them,  and  both  his  appetite  and  bodily  circumfer 
ence  corroborated  his  statement. 

The  Treasure,  Henriette,  Marie  and  the  chil 
dren  (Coco  and  Marianne  were  guests)  divided 
themselves  between  two  wagons,  while  we  three 

125 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

women  went  in  the  other,  the  Archangel  driving. 

He  seemed  a  new  being  from  the  night  before. 
Youth  predominated  over  carking  care.  We  had 
told  no  one  of  our  adventure,  and  the  secret  of 
our  prowess  remained  locked  within  our  breasts. 

As  we  clattered  down  the  village  street,  a  large 
share  of  its  inhabitants  waved  us  merry  greetings. 
We  met  Jean  en  route,  riding  with  his  father,  who 
smiled  kindly  at  our  cavalcade.  Jean's  face  glowed 
as  the  fair  Henriette  swept  by  in  her  lofty 
chariot. 

We  were  bound  for  Marie,  a  little  town  some 
five  miles  away,  near  a  genuine  Roman  Amphi 
theater.  We  drove  through  rolling  fields  of  beets 
and  pink  clover,  where  butterflies  and  bees  circled 
and  buzzed  in  drunken  ecstasy  of  repletion.  The 
sky  was  an  arch  of  blue;  a  golden  radiance  filled 
the  horizon.  We  were  young  and  care-free,  chil 
dren  out  for  a  holiday,  and  we  sang  from  light 
hearts  as  we  trundled  along  in  the  sunshine,  glove- 
less,  hats  pushed  back;  "the  world  forgetting, 
by  the  world  forgot." 

Marie  proved  to  be  pretty  enough  for  a  rnise 
en  scene,  with  its  tiny  square  in  the  shadow  of  its 
gray  church.  Market  was  in  full  swing.  Huge 

126 


A    PICNIC    and    a    HOMECOMING 

scarlet  umbrellas  sheltered  fruits  and  vegetables, 
between  which  short-skirted  women  in  wonderful 
white  caps  bargained  like  noisy  magpies.  Under 
a  wooden  kiosk,  girls  were  washing  clothes,  beat 
ing  them  with  flails,  and  scouring  them  with  scrub- 


"Under  a  wooden  kiosk,  girls  were   washing  clothes." 

bing  brushes.  Their  gay  young  voices  mingled 
with  organ  notes,  which  drifted  through  open  win 
dows  of  the  old  church. 

.  We  stopped  to  buy  fruit  from  an  old  woman 
with  big  gold  rings  dangling  on  each  side  of  her 
parchment-like  countenance;  then  drove  on  out- 

127 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

side  the  town  to  the  Arena.  We  found  it  sleeping 
in  the  sunshine,  as  it  had  done  for  a  thousand 
years,  green  fields  sloping  from  it  down  to  the 
river,  and  cool  woods  at  its  back. 

We  spread  our  feast  on  its  turf,  where,  no 
doubt,  Christian  martyrs  had  formerly  been  de 
voured  by  wild  beasts  with  appetites  equaling  our 
own. 

It  was  a  merry  function,  though  olives  did  tum 
ble  into  the  mayonnaise,  and  ants  crawled  down 
one's  spinal  column.  When  we  could  eat  no  more, 
and  the  children  had  departed  with  our  three 
household  goddesses,  the  others  left  me  alone  to 
investigate  the  interior.  Memories  of  the  Roman 
Coliseum  were  sufficient  for  me,  so  I  stretched  my 
length  in  the  shadow,  meaning  to  meditate  with 
intelligent  sobriety  on  the  Past.  I  lay  for  some 
time  peopling  the  space  about  me  with  ghosts  of 
conquerors  and  the  conquered;  picturing  feats  of 
arms,  agonies  of  martyrs,  and  the  color  and  bril 
liance  of  Rome's  pageantry.  But  it  failed  in  real 
ism.  Rather  was  my  interest  greater  in  watching 
the  tiny  lizard  on  the  stone  near  my  head,  its 
bright  eyes,  delicate  body,  and  its  pleasure  in  the 
hot  sunshine  from  God's  bright  sky. 

128 


A    PICNIC    and    a    HOMECOMING 

The  Past  was  dead  with  its  horrors  and  stupen 
dous  egotisms.  To-day  was  here,  as  Lord  Ash- 
burne  had  said,  "surrounded  by  beauty  and  won 
der."  The  ruined  walls  encircled  marvels  of  star- 
eyed  flowers,  clinging  vines  teeming  with  insect 
life.  All  was  busy  and  astir.  Even  the  motes 
dancing  in  the  sunbeams  were  doing  their  part  to 
ward  maintaining  the  balance  of  Creation.  My 
neighbor,  the  lizard,  watched  me  with  brilliant 
eyes.  One  could  see  his  fragile  body  pulsate, 
alert,  eager  with  life,  ready  to  dart  and  capture 
an  unwary  fly.  Ah!  Life  was  a  great  gift, 
worthy  to  live  to  one's  utmost  capacity. 

I  sprang  erect.  The  Arena  was  empty,  and  lay, 
like  a  cup  of  emerald,  between  gray  walls,  with  a 
cover  of  turquoise.  Children's  voices  floated 
from  beyond.  The  others  were  deep  in  dungeon 
cells.  Acquiring  a  hat,  I  started  off  on  a  voyage 
of  discovery  toward  the  town. 

Market  was  over.  The  town  slept.  Down  the 
center  of  its  principal  street,  where  ran  a  dirty 
stream  of  water,  ducks  waddled,  searching  choice 
morsels  with  yellow  bills.  A  cobbler,  cross- 
legged  at  his  bench  in  his  dark  cubby,  nodded 
"Bon  jour."  Framed  in  a  narrow  window  was  the 

129 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

delicate  head  of  a  young  girl,  bent  above  her  lace 
pillow.  By  the  dilapidated  fountain  in  the  center 
of  the  square,  ragged  boys  played  marbles  on  the 
splashed  flagging.  Pigeons  circled  above  against 
the  sky,  now  rosy  with  the  setting  sun. 

The  church  door  stood  open.  In  the  side 
chapels  candles  burned.  At  the  High  Altar  ves 
pers  were  being  intoned  by  a  white-haired  priest, 
assisted  by  two  scarlet-clad  acolytes,  the  organ 
murmuring  softly  with  their  voices. 

The  church's  noble  beauty,  mellowed  by  age, 
seemed  sanctified  by  centuries  of  aspiration,  where 
simple  folk  had  brought  their  burdens  to  the  pity 
ing  Christ.  Peace  was  surely  here.  The  warfare 
of  the  world  and  Nature  could  not  penetrate  these 
shadowy  aisles,  where  the  gentle  Mother  and  her 
Baby  symbolized  love  and  comprehension  of  hu 
man  pain.  Faith  seemed  less  a  superstition  here. 
Intelligent  demand  for  truth  seemed  an  imperti 
nence  which  robbed  without  restitution. 

My  eyes,  now  accustomed  to  the  dim  light,  dis 
cerned  two  figures  which  seemed  familiar,  kneel 
ing  at  the  Chapel  of  Our  Lady.  It  was  Hen- 
riette  and — Jean!  How  did  he  get  there?  My 
smart  little  maid,  for  once  shorn  of  coquetry, 

130 


A    PICNIC    and    a    HOMECOMING 

seemed,  in  her  humility,  a  new  being.  Beside  her 
knelt  Jean,  his  eyes  bent  not  on  the  Virgin  above, 
but  on  the  virgin  at  his  side.  His  gaze  of  enrap 
tured  worship  was  not  born  of  things  spiritual. 

I  turned  away,  filled  with  apprehension.  Was 
trouble  in  store  for  those  young  creatures? 
Surely,  with  his  crooked  back,  the  lad  could  not 
hope  for  love  like  other  men. 

I  paused  by  a  towering  column.  Before  me, 
absorbed,  were  Lillian  and  Lord  Ashburne.  I 
pinched  myself  to  make  sure  I  was  not  dreaming. 
How  did  he  get  here?  The  church  appeared  to 
be  endowed  with  powers  of  a  prestidigitator. 
Would  the  rest  of  my  visiting  list  be  scattered 
among  the  other  chapels? 

Feeling  again  decidedly  de  trop,  I  stole  on  to 
the  next  chapel,  and  was  not  at  all  surprised  when 
Monturbia  said,  without  turning,"You  are  wrong. 
It  is  here  I  have  found  the  Latin  inscription." 
Then  he  saw  me.  I  began  to  feel  like  apologizing 
for  my  existence. 

"Ah,  Madame  !  it  is  you.  We  were  looking  for 
the  monk  who  saw  the  devil " 

"Will  you  kindly  detach  your  thoughts  from  the 
devil  for  a  moment,  and  tell  me  whence  come  these 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

additions  to  our  party?  Did  you  know  that  Jean 
is  in  the  other  chapel  with  my  maid?  Did  any 
one  wave  a  wand  and  get  them  here  on  a  magic 
carpet?" 

The  Archangel  laughed  low,  as  became  the  sa 
cred  edifice. 

"It  was  not  a  carpet,  but  two  bicycles  which 
brought  them,  Madame.  Ashburne  came  to  the 
chateau  soon  after  we  left,  and  Jean  offered  to 
show  him  the  way,  having  an  errand  in  this  direc 
tion." 

I  had  my  suspicions  as  to  the  nature  of  the  er 
rand.  Lillian  and  her  companion,  hearing  our 
voices,  joined  us.  Lord  Ashburne  appeared  par 
ticularly  smart  and  well-set  up  in  knickerbockers, 
and,  be  it  confessed,  exceedingly  attractive.  He 
shook  hands  quietly  and  walked  along  by  me  as 
we  passed  out  into  the  sunlit  square.  He  seemed 
slightly  embarrassed,  as  he  ventured  the  explana 
tion  that  his  anxiety  to  learn  whether  the  Arch 
angel  had  proven  satisfactory  had  brought  him 
from  London.  I  found  his  gray  eyes  regarding 
me  attentively,  and,  oddly,  his  self-consciousness 
proved  contagious.  I  found  myself  smiling  a  so 
ciety  smile,  at  a  loss  for  ease  of  conversation. 

132 


A    PICNIC    and    a    HOMECOMING 

However,  we  chatted  commonplaces  on  the  way 
back  to  the  Arena,  where  we  found  Margaret, 
lost  to  externals  over  a  water-color  of  gray  ruins 
against  a  crimson  sky. 

"Goodness  gracious,  Bud,"  she  exclaimed; 
"how  did  you  get  here?  Are  you  staying  here? 
You  are,  to  say  the  least,  startling." 

"Don't  know  exactly  where  I'm  stopping,"  he 
replied,  "till  you  decide.  My  boxes  are  at  your 
chateau,  but  if  you  object,  no  doubt  they  and  I 
could  spend  the  night  under  a  hay-rick." 

"You  spoiled,  audacious  creature.  You  are 
witness,"  waving  her  hands  dramatically  toward 
our  smiling  faces,  "that  this  man  thrusts  himself 
upon  me  with  brazen  effrontery." 

Then  she  tucked  her  hand  affectionately  into 
his  arm: 

"You  know  you  are  welcome.  Come,  gather 
up.  our  chattels." 

The  Archangel  was  helping  Lillian  stow  away 
baskets. 

"You  like  him,  don't  you?"  asked  Ash- 
burne.  "A  decent  chap.  Don't  you  find  him 
so?" 

"He  is  charming,"  said  Margaret,  "and  Wis- 
10  133 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

consin  should  be  grateful.     But  who  is  he?    Why 
this  mystery?" 

Ashburne's  face  clouded. 

"Don't  play  Pandora.  I  need  not  tell  you  that 
he  is  a  gentleman,  do  I?" 

"That  fact  cries  aloud  for  itself,"  said  I.  "So 
much  so,  that  Margaret  asked  him  to  dine  with 
us  before  he'd  been  in  the  house  ten  minutes,  in 
the  face  of  the  fact  that  another  man  of  his  name 
had  preceded  him  by  twenty-four  hours." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

We  recounted  the  episode  of  the  impostor. 
From  our  listener's  profile,  I  gathered  that  the 
news  considerably  disturbed  him,  but  as  everyone 
was  clambering  into  our  lofty  conveyances,  he  let 
the  subject  drop.  As  I  was  about  to  mount,  he 
said: 

"I  can't  really  pedal  all  the  way  back.  I'm 
tired  to  death,  not  having  ridden  for  so  long. 
Besides,  that  borrowed  wheel  is  too  short  for  my 
long  legs.  Can't  I  go  home  with  you?" 

He  gazed  imperturbably  at  the  wagon,  already 
palpably  packed  to  overflowing. 

"Of    course    you     can't,"     Margaret     began. 

"Don't  you  see 

134 


"Yes,"  he  sighed.  "It  does  seem  a  bit  full.  I 
tell  you  what  I'll  do.  Hire  another,  and  I'll  drive 
Madame  home,  with  my  wheel  behind.  That  is," 
with  a  bow  to  me,  "if  the  gracious  lady  per 
mits." 

Margaret  glanced  quizzically  from  his  serious 
face  to  me,  and  agreed,  before  I  had  a  chance  to 
raise  my  voice  on  the  subject.  In  a  trice  Ash- 
burne  had  disappeared.  They  waved  farewell, 
and  I  was  left  standing  in  the  road,  somewhat 
indignant  at  this  summary  disposal  of  my  per 
son. 

The  three  wagons  disappeared  over  the  brow 
of  the  hill,  careening  against  the  sunset,  the  chil 
dren  screaming  fond  adienx.  Moments  passed. 
Neither  escort  nor  wagon  appeared.  I  had  about 
decided  to  start  for  home  on  foot,  when  Ash- 
burne  arrived  in  a  ridiculous  little  cart,  drawn  by 
a  rat  of  a  pony,  in  which  his  huge  frame  loomed 
gigantic. 

"Best  I  could  do,"  he  said.  "But  haste  on  such 
an  evening  would  be  a  mistake.  We  will  have 
ample  time  to  familiarize  ourselves  with  the  land 
scape." 

He  assisted  me  into  the  absurd  affair. 
135 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

"  '  Over  the  hills  and  far  away, 

Beyond  their  utmost  purple  rim, 
And  deep  into  the  dying  day 

The  happy  princess  followed  him,'  ' 

he  quoted,  as  he  climbed  in  beside  me. 

"You  are  a  dismal  failure,"  I  said. 

"How?" 

"At  lying,"  said  I. 

"Ah!  about  the  fatigue?" 

"And  about  the  borrowed  bicycle.  It  had  your 
monogram  on  it." 

"A  lie,"  he  replied,  "is  a  statement  intended  to 
deceive.  Do  you  think  mine  deceived  anyone?" 

"You  are  absurd!"  said  I. 

"It  is  better  to  be  happy  and  absurd,  than  truth 
ful  and  compressed  into  a  wagon  with  three 
women,  a  bicycle,  and  an  Archangel." 

Silence  ensued.  My  companion  appeared  ab 
sorbed  in  the  pony's  ears.  The  wide  landscape 
lay  in  a  glory  of  scarlet  and  gold.  Poppies  blazed 
among  the  wheat.  The  jog-trot  of  our  pony  on 
the  hard  road  was  the  only  sound.  Suddenly  my 
companion  remarked  irrelevantly: 

"You  forgot  the  shoes." 

"What  shoes?  What  are  you  talking  about?" 
136 


A    PICNIC    and    a    HOMECOMING 

"The  buckled  shoes.  The  skirt  was  not  a  fit  as 
to  length." 

"Oh!  those—"  I  began. 

But  he  raised  a  protesting  hand. 

"Pray  don't  apologize.  They  looked  very 
well." 

His  manner  was  so  impersonal,  and  implied  so 
detached  an  interest  in  the  subject,  that  my  rising 
resentment  vanished,  and  I  laughed. 

"But  I  did  know  how  to  wait  on  the  table,  didn't 
I?" 

"There  was  room  for  improvement.  You 
passed  the  chicken  on  the  right,  and  forgot  to 
brush  off  the  crumbs." 

"But  that  was  after  you  found  me  out.  You 
made  me  nervous,  watching,"  said  I. 

"You  also  made  a  mistake,  in  playing  the  game, 
by  showing  your — hand!" 

"Would  you  have  had  me  wear  gloves?" 

"Heavens,  no!  That  would  have  been  such  a 
pity!" 

He  glanced  down  at  my  gloveless  hands,  lying 
in  my  lap. 

"You  are  flirting,"  I  said,  "and  that  is  stupid." 

He    made    no    reply  to  my  rude  remark,  but 

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The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

flicked  flies  from  the  pony.  Then  he  said 
gravely: 

"Yes,  it  is  stupid.  I  beg  your  pardon.  But, 
honestly,  when  with  you  I  feel  like  an  awkward 
schoolboy.  I  lack  the  art  of  talking  to  women. 
I  should  like — I  wish  only  to  please  you,  but,  not 
being  a  carpet  knight,  I  stumble  where  I  would 
run  to  win  your  favor." 

"And  yet  I  have  heard  that  you  disliked 
women." 

"Really?  What  heresy!  But  yet,  in  a  way  it 
is  true.  How  can  I  explain?  It  is  that  my  ideal 
is  so  high;  I  am  so  filled  with  a  vision  of  what 
a  woman  should  be  that  the  average  woman  of 
society  either  palls  or  disenchants.  If  you  knew 
the  dreams  I  have  dreamed !" 

He  paused.  The  feeling  in  his  voice  seemed  to 
silence  it.  Then  he  went  on,  searching  for  words, 
as  though  trying  to  clarify  his  thoughts. 

"My  mother  died  when  I  was  born.  As  a  child 
I  stayed  a  great  deal  with  her  sister.  She  was 
young,  gentle,  with  tender  eyes.  At  tea-time  she 
always  came  to  the  schoolroom  and  sat  before  the 
fire,  holding  her  youngest  boy  in  her  arms,  while  I 
hung  about  her  knees.  I  was  too  big  to  be  so 

138 


A    PICNIC    and    a    HOMECOMING 

held,  but  I  used  to  watch  her  cheek  against  his 
hair,  and  wonder  how  it  felt.  I  can't  tell  you  how 
I  longed  for  what  she  gave  him.  As  I  grew  from 
my  rough,  mischievous  boyhood,  that  desire  grew 
for  the  belief  and  tenderness  of  a  good  woman — 
a  woman  who  is  old-fashioned  enough  to  be  ten 
der,  sweet-natured  enough  to  be  gay  in  spite  of  a 
sad  world,  and  strong  enough  of  heart  to  have 
remained  honest,  generous,  and  kind." 

"But  you  have  a  future,"  I  said,  "and  you  may 
find  her  there." 

"What  am  I  that  I  should  hope  to  win  her? 
The  world  is  soiling,  and  I  have  lived  in  the  midst 
of  the  fray.  It  is  a  wonderful  thing  for  such  a 
woman  to  put  her  white  soul  into  a  man's  hands 
and  say,  'There!  it  is  yours!'  ' 

"But,  on  the  other  hand,"  I  said,  "is  it  not  an 
honor  and  a  blessing  for  her  to  have  her  life  cher 
ished  and  supported?  Her  faults  are  as  real  as 
his  own.  It  is  their  mutual  privilege  to  forgive. 
There  is  none  sweeter." 

"It  surprises  me,"  he  said,  smiling,  "to  hear  an 
American  woman  speak  of  weakness  and  support. 
In  your  country,  are  not  women  the  pivot  around 
which  your  great  Empire  turns?  In  my  mental 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

vision,  I  always  see  the  American  woman  en 
throned,  while  about  her  feet  grovel  financiers, 
statesmen,  and  that  humble  worm  called  'hus 
band.'  The  wealth  they  accumulate — is  it  not  for 
you  to  toss  away  with  your  pretty  fingers?" 

"Really,  I  do  protest,"  said  I  with  some  irrita 
tion,  "against  the  idea,  so  eternally  voiced  over 
here,  of  the  long-suffering,  unselfish  American 
husband,  spending  his  life  in  slavish  toil  to  earn 
money  for  his  wife.  It  is  arrant  nonsense.  Our 
men  adore  their  so-called  'toil.'  When  their  mil 
lions  are  made,  do  they  stop?  No!  They  would 
rather  die  than  give  up  the  chase  after  the  al 
mighty  dollar.  It  is  the  breath  of  their  nostrils. 
Their  wives  are  the  victims,  not  the  cause.  They 
are  relegated  to  lives  apart  from  their  husbands. 
It  is  a  marvel  that  they  keep  out  of  mischief. 
No  nation  over  here  would  dare  to  give  its 
women  such  liberty." 

Ashburne  laughed.  "Dear  me!  It  requires 
something  of  a  mental  somersault  for  me  to  think 
of  the  American  woman  as  a — victim!" 

"It  is  true,  nevertheless.  What  would  they  not 
give  for  real  companionship?  A  husband  to  read, 
travel,  motor  and  golf  with,  as  you  do  with  your 

140 


A    PICNIC    and    a    HOMECOMING 

wives.  When  some  unselfish  male  does  come  over 
here,  he  is  an  object  for  commiseration.  See  him 
at  the  Ritz,  loafing  in  the  corridors,  meandering 
through  the  Champs  Elysee  or  through  Bond 
Street,  or  in  your  Club  windows.  He  is  ignorant 
how  to  use  his  time  or  his  brain.  Literature  is  a 
closed  book;  the  Arts  a  bore  to  avoid.  He  has 
lost  the  capacity  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  a  cul 
tivated  life.  He  is  a  machine  which  has  crushed 
idealism.  He  returns  to  Wall  Street  as  to  Para 
dise,  and  his  wife  is  told  to  console  herself  with 
a  bank  account.  Then  Europeans  cry,  'What  a 
devoted  husband!'  Most  wives  would  prefer  less 
money  and  more  husband." 

"But  you  enjoy  yourselves  over  here,"  said  my 
companion. 

"There  is  a  wide  difference,"  I  replied,  "be 
tween  happiness  and  enjoyment." 

"Yes !  The  Hindoos  say  that  happiness  is  duty 
performed.  Pleasure  is  the  pursuit  of  happiness, 
which  eternally  evades." 

As  he  spoke,  the  contrast  of  my  surroundings 
and  the  kaleidoscope  of  my  own  existence  accen 
tuated  the  meaning  of  his  words.  There  was  no 
pleasure  I  had  not  tasted  to  repletion,  and  yet, 

141 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

during  those  gay,  hurried  years,  where  had  I 
found  happiness?  Only  in  my  son,  where  affec 
tion,  primal  and  absorbing,  bloomed,  a  thing  apart 
from  pleasures. 

"You  see,"  I  said,  "many  of  us  are  square  pegs 
in  round  holes.  Circumstances  have  treated  me 
kindly.  I  certainly  lacked  nothing,  as  a  child,  in 
love  and  care.  I  married,  at  seventeen,  a  friend  I 
had  grown  up  with,  of  whom  I  was  sincerely  fond. 
We  were  very  happy.  There  were  no  mysteries, 
tragedies,  or  strong  passions.  He  died  a  year 
later.  I  missed  him.  And  yet  there  remains 
something  within  me  which  never  has  grown  up. 
I  am  twenty-six,  but  in  many  ways  I  am  not  yet 
twenty-one." 

"Like  sliding  down  hay-ricks?"  he  asked,  smil 
ing. 

"Yes,  that  and  other  things.  I  am  still  expecting 
happiness,  which  is,  of  course,  childish.  I  still 
fancy  that  people  tell  the  truth;  that  they  are  kind. 
Foolish  delusions.  But  here  we  are.  Home!  Our 
gate  is  at  the  farther  end  of  the  street." 

As  we  passed  the  wine-shop,  Madame  Flaubert 
rushed  out,  gesticulating  wildly.  We  heard  the 
telephone  bell  within  ringing  furiously. 

142 


- 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

"Tell  them  at  the  chateau  the  police  will  be  here 
from  Paris  by  the  next  train,"  she  gasped. 

"Police!"  I  cried. 

Ashburne  drew  our  steed  to  a  halt.  "But  yes, 
Madame!  With  their  best  detective." 

"Is  the  woman  mad?"  Ashburne  cried. 

I  shook  the  reins. 

"Hurry!  Hurry!"  I  shouted,  with  wild  con 
jectures  flocking  through  my  brain.  "Do  whip 
that  lazy  beast!" 

With  Madame  Flaubert  still  screaming  inco 
herences,  we  galloped  down  the  street.  The  gate 
was  open.  A  little  crowd  parted  to  let  us  through. 
The  chateau  windows  were  ablaze  from  cellar  to 
roof.  They  heard  us,  and  came  rushing  out,  Al- 
wyn  executing  a  war-dance  about  our  vehicle, 
shouting: 

"Burglars!     Burglars!" 

"Wolf!  Wolf!"  I  answered.  "You  can't  play 
that  on  me  !  The  donkey  again." 

Margaret  ran  forward  as  we  clambered  to  the 
steps. 

"We  have  been  robbed  thoroughly,"  she  man 
aged  to  say  amid  the  hubbub. 

We  followed  her  in. 

144 


A    PICNIC    and    a    HOMECOMING 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  well  to  get  rid  of  these 
people,"  Ashburne  said  quietly.  "The  police  and 
detectives  are  on  the  way  from  Paris.  Now  please 
explain." 

The  door  was  closed  on  the  servants  and  neigh 
bors.  Lillian  and  Monturbia  were  busy  gather 
ing  up  from  the  hall  floor  what  appeared  to  be  the 
contents  of  a  "gentleman's  furnishing  shop." 

"My  clothes,"  said  Ashburne,  holding  up  a  pair 
of  silk  pajamas.  "And  where  are  my  boxes?" 

"Gone,"  said  Margaret  tersely,  "with  one  of 
my  biggest  trunks,  all  filled  with  our  silver,  toilette 
articles,  spare  cash,  and  two  dozen  of  our  Pom- 
mery  Sec." 

"And  the  pigeon  pie !"  cried  Alwyn. 

"And  the  doughnuts  !"  wailed  Lillian. 

"He  left  this  letter  on  my  desk,"  said  Margaret, 
thrusting  upon  our  notice  a  neat  epistle,  written 
on  her  best  paper. 

Lord  Ashburne  read  it,  standing  amongst  his 
scattered  wardrobe. 

"MESDAMES: 

"I  regret  leaving  so  hurriedly,  but  the  driver 
who  brought  your  friend's  baggage  is  impatient  to 
be  gone,  and  he  takes  me  to  the  station.  I  also 

145 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

regret  the  necessity  of  having  been  obliged  to 
trespass  upon  your  hospitality  so  long.  I  in 
tended  having  attended  to  certain  matters  during 
last  night,  but  some  disturbance  a\\oke  the  ladies, 
and  I  was  obliged  to  postpone  it  until  to-day,  when 
the  house  was  so  considerately  left  at  my  disposal. 
It  may  interest  you  to  knowr  that  I  preceded  you 
by  a  moment  upstairs  from  the  kitchen,  where  I 
had  been  to  seek  your  most  estimable  pigeon  pie. 
The  round  cakes  were  also  excellent,  save  for  the 
holes  within.  You  will  find  a  few  in  the  granary, 
where  I  spent  thirty-six  hours  of  enforced  idle 
ness.  The  jewels  I  could  not  find,  but  will  return 
for  them  another  time. 

"With  my  most  distinguished  salutations, 
"I  remain,  dear  ladies, 

"Your  most  humble  servant, 

"FAUSTINO  DI  MONTURBIA." 


Two  men  in  plain  clothes  arrived  later  from 
Paris,  looked  grave,  took  voluminous  notes,  a 
generous  check,  and  departed,  leaving  us  no  wiser 
than  before.  Two  days  later  a  small  wooden  case 
arrived  by  express  from  Rouen,  marked  "Collect." 
We  paid  the  charges.  On  opening  it  we  found 
within  all  our  small  plated  ware,  each  piece  broken 
in  twyo.  Enclosed  was  a  note : 

146 


A    PICNIC    and    a    HOMECOMING 

"MESDAMES: 

"I  return  these  trifles,  as  I  find  on  examination 
they  are  of  no  use  to  me.  I  am  grieved  to  learn 
that  ladies  of  such  charm  and  distinction  should 
condescend  to  spurious  metal.  But  the  champagne 
is  above  reproach,  and  the  undergarments  of  an 
admirable  fit. 

"Accept  my  most  profound  homages. 

"FAUSTINO  DI  MONTURBIA." 

That  was  the  last  we  heard  of  our  stolen  goods 
or  the  gentle  burglar. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

VISITING     AND     VISITED 

THE  following  days  passed  in  uneventful  re 
pose.  Ashburne,  having  telegraphed  for 
more  clothing,  stayed  on.  Margaret  left 
him  to  his  own  devices,  and  we  rarely  saw  her  ex 
cept  at  meals  and  during  the  evening.  We  idled 
beneath  the  trees  of  the  Linden  Walk,  where  ham 
mocks  had  been  swung,  and  wicker  tables  and 
chaises  longues  made  of  it  a  pastoral  drawing- 
room.  We  spent  many  hours  in  the  forest,  where 
Marie  faithfully  found  us  promptly  with  the  tea- 
wagon.  My  motor  took  us  far  about  the  country, 
where  we  lunched  at  arbored  inns  off  such  omelets, 
chickens,  salads,  and  native  wine  as  only  France 
can  produce.  It  was  an  idyllic  existence,  untram 
melled  by  convention,  and  Paris  with  its  throngs 
and  turmoil  seemed  a  thousand  miles  and  years 
away. 

But  one  day  Margaret  recalled  us  to  prosaic 
things  by  reminding  us  that  the  visit  of  the  Mayor- 

148 


VISITING    and    VISITED 


ess  must  be  returned.  We  endeavored  to  shirk 
our  share  in  the  ordeal,  by  arguinp;  that  we  were 
mere  visitors.  But  Margaret  waxed  wroth,  claim 
ing  that,  as  Lillian  and  I  had  shared  in  the  first 
fiasco,  we  should  lend  our  support  toward  retriev 
ing  the  Mayoress's  first  disastrous  impression. 
She  also  inveigled  Ashburne  into  accompanying 
us  on  the  fateful  pilgrimage. 

Firmly  resolved  to  cover  ourselves  with  glory 
on  this  occasion,  we  proceeded  to  cover  our  per 
sons  with  our  smartest  raiment,  omitting  no  de 
tail  of  veils,  gloves,  parasols,  and  visiting  cards. 
When  we  issued  forth,  peacocks  never  preened 
themselves  with  greater  self-satisfaction. 

We  had  not  far  to  go.  The  Mayor's  residence 
was  at  our  gates.  At  first  we  thought  we  had  en 
tered  the  rea  by  mistake.  A  great,  stone-paved 
yard  met  our  eyes,  in  the  center  of  \vhich  was 
stacked  stabling  straw.  Facing  the  long,  narrow 
house  was  a  shed,  filled  with  farming  implements. 
Not  a  flower  or  blade  of  grass  softened  its  ugli 
ness.  Chickens  picked  among  the  cobbles,  and  a 
couple  of  dogs  slept  in  the  sun.  For  people  whose 
income  amounted  to  thousands,  it  seemed  a  sorry 
abode;  but,  as  Ashburne  said,  it  was  just  such 

11  149 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

economy  that  made  the  financial  backbone  of 
France. 

We  proceeded  to  the  front  door,  and  pulled  the 
bell.  It  tinkled  rustily  somewhere  within,  but  no 
one  came.  We  waited  in  nervous  silence,  and  rang 
again.  Footsteps  were  heard,  and  a  stout  maid 
in  short  skirts  and  monumental  cap  opened  the 
door  gingerly  and  admitted  us  warily  to  the 
salon. 

It  was  a  long,  narrow  apartment.  Nottingham 
curtains  were  looped  in  starchy  folds  beneath  red 
rep  lambrequins.  Rosewood  chairs,  upholstered 
in  terra-cotta  plush,  stood  stiffly  against  the  wall. 
From  chocolate-colored  walls  family  portraits  in 
crayon  stared  stonily.  A  closed  piano  stood  in 
one  corner,  surmounted  by  colored  vases  filled 
with  dyed  grasses.  The  floor  was  waxed  to  su 
perlative  slipperiness.  On  the  center  table  were 
ranged  a  red  plush  album,  wax  flowers  under  glass, 
and  a  china  dog  with  bulging  eyes. 

No  doubt  Jean  found  Henriette's  pink  cheeks 
and  dimples  a  pleasing  contrast. 

We  seated  ourselves  decorously  about  on  the 
terra-cotta  furniture,  and  waited  in  depressed  si 
lence.  Moments  passed.  The  stuffy  atmosphere, 

150 


VISITING    and    VISITED 


with  its  odor  of  furniture  polish  and  wax,  made  it 
difficult  to  realize  that  a  few  yards  away  lay  our 
park,  with  its  dappled  shadows  and  gay  parterres 
of  flowers. 

"Can't  you  say  something?"  whispered  Mar 
garet.  "If  somebody  doesn't  make  a  noise,  I  shall 
scream." 

As  she  spoke  a  heavy  tread  was  heard,  and  in 
sailed  our  hostess,  elaborately  dressed.  The 
placket  of  her  skirt  was  open  behind,  showing  a 
purple  alpaca  petticoat.  She  shook  hands  with  us 
all  with  self-satisfied  ceremony,  and  sank  to  the 
edge  of  a  chair.  No  detail  of  our  toilettes  es 
caped  that  beady  eye,  and  I  returned  its  gaze 
steadily,  secure  in  our  perfection. 

"You  will  excuse  my  keeping  you  waiting,  but 
I  was  superintending  jam.  It  is  strawberry  time, 
and  what  with  thieving  birds  and  boys,  one  has  no 
time  to  waste.  What  do  you  do  with  yours?" 

"Send  them  in  crates  to  the  hospitals,"  said 
Margaret.  "But  what  Isidore  did  before  our  ad 
vent  one  can't  imagine.  Our  kitchen  garden  would 
feed  a  regiment.  He  is  most  devoted  and  indus 
trious  to  keep  things  up  so  well  in  the  Countess's 
absence." 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

The  Mayoress  wafted  her  clean  pocket  hand 
kerchief  to  her  Roman  nose. 

"Humph,"  she  sniffed.  "The  Countess  is  of  a 
most  trusting  disposition." 

I  opened  my  eyes  wide. 

"But  Isidore  is  a  monument  of  honesty,  is  he 
not?  Fancy!  I  found  those  enormous  apples, 
wThich  grow  on  those  dwarfed  trees  trained  on 
wires,  all  numbered!  I  never  saw  such  a  sight. 
And  the  pears,  trained  to  the  wall,  each  in  its  net 
bag!  He  must  have  the  executive  ability  of  a 
field-marshal.  Even  the  American  corn  we  planted 
has  broken  glass  between  the  hillocks,  so  that  the 
path  of  dishonesty  is  made  difficult." 

The  Mayoress  nodded  her  black  head,  where 
well-greased  bandeaux  surmounted  her  shiny 
forehead. 

"It  is  well  to  have  faith,  but  not  faith  in  gar 
deners.  Broken  glass  looks  well,  but  felt  slippers 
don't  mind  it.  And  do  numbers  on  apples  and 
bags  on  pears  help  you  to  know  where  they  go 
to?" 

"It  is  really  not  our  affair,"  said  Margaret, 
twitching  her  glasses  from  her  nose  by  wrinkling 
that  member — a  sign  of  annoyance.  "We  have 

152 


VISITING    and    VISITED 


more  than  we  want,  and  the  Countess  doubtless 
sells  the  rest." 

The  sleek  head  nodded. 

"Yes,  no  doubt  the  rest  is  sold.  The  Countess 
being  of  a  charitable  disposition,  it  does  not  mat 
ter." 

"Suspicious  old  cat!"  I  thought,  with  memories 
of  Isidore's  devotion  as  a  butler  in  time  of  stress. 

"What  do  you  do  with  your  surplus  stuff?" 
asked  Ashburne. 

"It  is  I  and  not  the  gardener  who  does  the 
counting.  My  son,  Jean,  has  also  been  trained  by 
me  to  keep  track  of  everything,  down  to  a  carrot. 
I  am  sorry  to  say  he  shows  little  interest,  but  what 
will  you?  He  is  good  for  little  else.  He  prefers 
carving  heathen  gods  in  ivory;  a  folly  which  his 
father  does  wrong  to  encourage.  It  is  time  he  was 
married  and  settled.  Already  we  have  proposed 
for  the  hand  of  a  neighbor's  daughter  who  has 
an  excellent  dot — a  worthy  young  woman  of  sober 
tastes,  and  healthy.  My  son  will  marry  accord 
ing  to  my  wishes.  If  not,  he  will  not  have  a 
penny." 

She  glanced  significantly  at  me,  as  though  I  had 
designs  upon  the  youth,  but,  of  course,  with  Hen- 

153 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

riette  in  her  mind.  How  much  did  she  know? 
What  was  there  to  know?  I  scented  complica 
tions,  and  pitied  Jean.  As  for  the  healthy  young 
woman  of  sober  tastes,  I  longed  to  shake  her. 

"It  is  difficult  to  control  youth  and  love,"  I  said. 
"They  are  delicate  and  lovely,  but  governed  by 
forces  beyond  our  control.  A  rose  will  be  a  rose, 
even  if  planted  in  a  pansy  bed.  You  may  call  it 
self-will  or  disobedience,  but  the  rose  remains  a 
rose." 

She  flushed  angrily. 

"I'm  not  talking  of  roses,  but  of  common-sense. 
If  parents  allowed  children  to  marry  as  they 
wished,  the  world  would  go  to  perdition.  If  I  saw 
my  son  about  to  do  a  foolish  thing,  it  would  be 
my  first  duty  to  prevent  it,  and  I  most  certainly 
would." 

Her  thin  lips  closed  with  a  snap  which  boded  ill 
for  foolish  happiness.  The  conversation  lacked 
that  suavity  which  should  have  graced  so  impor 
tant  an  occasion.  We  had  hoped  for  better 
things.  Ashburne  sat,  elbows  on  knees,  twirling 
his  hat,  eyes  bent  on  the  floor.  Lillian's  voice 
hastened  to  pour  oil  on  turgid  waters. 

"You  must  be  very  fond  of  this  place,  having 
154 


VISITING    and    VISITED 


been  here  so  long.     Is  there  a  corner  of  France 
which  is  not  lovable?" 

I  did  not  hear  the  reply.  My  ears  were  strained 
for  a  sound  which  seemed  familiar:  a  far-away 
tinkle,  the  muffled  whirr  of  rubber-tired  wheels. 
Lord  Ashburne  heard  it,  too,  and  leaned  forward 
with  raised  brows.  It  sounded  appallingly  like 
our  tea-wagon  crossing  the  cobbles  of  the  yard. 
It  rumbled  nearer  and  nearer.  My  heart  stood 
still. 

Could  Marie  be  so  mad?  Her  orders,  to  be 
sure,  had  been  to  bring  it  wherever  we  might  be, 
but  even  her  stolid  brain  could  not  be  guilty  of 
such  stupidity.  But  yes !  even  then  it  crossed  our 
vision,  passing  the  window.  The  others  had  their 
backs  to  the  appalling  sight,  while  Margaret's 
voice  ran  on.  I  longed  to  scream  a  warning,  but 
Marie  was  no  snail.  She  had  entered  the  door. 
She  was  in  the  passage.  As  I  rose,  with  some  wild 
impulse  to  throw  myself  between  it  and  the  coming 
disaster,  the  door  flew  open. 

There  on  the  threshold  stood  our  maid,  red  and 
triumphant,  behind  our  gay  little  tea-wagon,  sam 
ovar  steaming,  cakes  and  tartines  in  bright  array. 
It  was  a  spectacle  to  freeze  one's  blood. 

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The  HOUSE  of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

Our  hostess  stared,  dumb  with  amazement.  I 
thought  for  a  moment  that  blue  flames  would 
crackle  round  her  where  she  sat. 

"Madame  est  seruie,"  said  Marie  politely. 

Her  words  broke  the  spell.  Our  hostess  asked 
icily: 

"Is  it  that  the  ladies  wish  to  teach  me  hospi 
tality,  that  they  bring  food  and  drink  to  my 
house?" 

Marie,  aware  that  something  was  wrong,  stared 
at  her  open-mouthed,  then  turned  and  fled,  leav 
ing  the  tea-wagon  on  the  threshold.  I  saw  her 
flying  out  through  the  gate  as  though  seven  devils 
were  at  her  heels,  apron  strings  streaming  behind 
her. 

I  looked  at  Ashburne.  He  was  plainly  on  the 
verge  of  apoplexy.  Margaret  laid  an  arresting 
hand  on  the  Mayoress's  trembling  arm. 

"Dear  Madame,  I  beg  you  to  accept  our  most 
heart-felt  apologies  for  our  servant's  stupidity. 
She  had  general  orders  to  bring  our  tea  to  us 
wherever  we  might  be,  in  the  park,  house,  or  for 
est,  and  had  no  more  sense  than  to  bring  it  here. 
You  must  believe  that  it  was  unintentional." 

The  wrathful  lady  looked  at  Margaret's  con- 
156 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

trite  face,  the  muscles  in  her  neck  quivering  with 
the  effort  for  self-control. 

"I  am  in  my  own  house,"  she  said  thickly,  "and 
perforce  am  obliged  to  accept  your  explanation." 

I  ran  to  her.  Her  anger  must  be  appeased  at 
all  costs.  It  was  not  thus  that  she  must  judge 
American  women.  Were  all  our  boredom  and 
efforts  to  retrieve  the  past  to  go  for  nothing? 

I  laid  an  appealing  arm  about  her  shoulder,  as 
tonished  at  my  own  temerity,  for  the  shoulders 
were  as  hard  as  her  visage.  My  arm  clung  there 
as  a  limpet  to  a  rock. 

"Dear  Madame,"  I  pleaded,  with  uplifted  eyes, 
"you  can't  suppose  for  a  moment  that  we  should 
presume  to  bring  food  to  a  house  renowned 
throughout  the  country  for  its  cuisine.  You  would 
laugh  our  poor  efforts  to  scorn.  Our  maid  had 
never  been  in  service  before,  except  to  a  cow,  and 
what  can  you  expect?" 

The  grim  visage  relaxed,  though  scepticism 
lurked  there. 

"Now!"  I  cried  gayly,  "we  won't  believe  you 
have  forgiven  us  unless  you  let  me  make  you  a  cup 
of  tea." 

I  whisked  that  wagon  into  the  room  before  she 
158 


VISITING    and    VISITED 


could  say  "Jack  Robinson,"  while  Lillian  and 
Margaret  visibly  shuddered  at  my  audacity.  Be 
fore  she  knew  it,  the  irate  lady  was  sipping  our 
tea,  a  doughnut  suspended  by  its  center  from  her 
little  finger.  She  evidently  thought  it  so  fashioned 
for  the  purpose. 

Ashburne  sent  me  from  his  corner  a  naughty 
wink.  I  chattered  like  a  paroquet  on  its  native 
heath,  though  my  hands  shook  as  they  pressed 
delicacies  upon  the  mollified  lady. 

Was  she  appeased?  Her  face  remained  as  in 
scrutable  as  the  Sphinx.  With  her  mouth  full  of 
bread  and  butter,  she  could  hardly  express  unflat 
tering  opinions,  even  if  her  bosom  harbored 
them. 

We  finally  made  a  dignified  exit,  Ashburne 
trundling  the  ex-perambulator.  Once  within  our 
gates,  we  paused,  Ashburne  wiping  perspiration 
from  his  brow. 

"Well,  we've  done  it  now,"  said  Margaret. 
"She  is  the  kind  that  never  forgives." 

"She  will  hate  us  till  she  draws  her  last  breath,'* 
said  Lillian. 

Three  days  later  Ashburne  went  away.  We 
missed  his  charming  companionship;  long  hours 

159 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

in  the  forest,  where  he  unfolded  its  lore;  tranquil 
evenings  on  the  terrace,  or  strolling  along  the 
curving  roads  between  fields  where  no  fences 
broke  the  monotony  of  cultivation.  In  my  hurried 
life  I  had  never  known  this  sleeping  world.  It 
had  meant  to  me  stars  vaguely  glimpsed  above 
carriage  lamps,  as  I  hurried  to  and  fro  between 
social  functions.  Seen  thus,  in  tranquil  intimacy, 
undistracted,  it  proved  a  revelation  of  mystical 
enchantment. 

I  found  that  Night  weaves  harmonies  of  color 
and  sound  far  more  delicate  and  alluring  than  Day. 
Air  hangs  between  earth  and  sky  as  though  listen 
ing  to  the  growth  of  all  growing  things.  From 
celestial  spaces  falls  the  dew,  bringing  refresh 
ment  from  pure  heights,  and  weaving  gossamer 
traceries  of  translucent  brilliance,  which  catch  the 
glory  of  the  stars.  Mists  wreathe  filmy  beauty 
about  dipping  hillsides,  sensuous  and  tender,  in 
tangible  as  dreams,  where  poppies  hang  sleepy 
heads  among  motionless  wheat. 

No  sun  ever  brings  to  one's  ravished  senses 
such  scents  as  humid  darkness  woos  from  bud  and 
blossom.  Perfumes  rise  from  weeds  along  the 
roadside,  and  float  in  gossamer  whiffs  from  tan- 

160 


VISITING    and    VISITED 


gled  vine  and  field  of  clover.  They  pursue  and 
cling;  sweep  across  one's  path  with  rushing  sweet 
ness,  and  hang  heavily  above  beds  of  fern. 

Bats  flit  by  on  velvet  wings.  Great  moths  brush 
dew  from  petals,  and  vanish,  like  flowers  tossed 
by  fairy  hands.  Then  "the  music  of  the  night — " 
those  airy  sounds  of  insects  among  grasses;  the 
call  of  night-birds,  the  ripple  of  hidden  streams, 
flowing  among  shadows.  Small  creatures  stir  in 
their  sleep,  God's  innocent  creatures  guarded  by 
the  same  protecting  laws  which  control  the  spin 
ning  worlds  in  the  stupendous  vault  above. 

One  loses  one's  egotistical  belief  in  Man's  su 
preme  importance.  Humility  creeps  to  the  door 
of  one's  heart,  and  enters  there,  on  its  knees.  A 
passion  of  reverence  for  things  immutable  sweeps 
away  barriers  between  spiritual  vision  and  human 
comprehension.  Within  that  shrine,  where  we 
cherish  holy  things,  the  Voice  is  heard,  like  a  pure- 
toned  bell  before  an  altar,  calling  to  worship. 

Ashburne  and  I  talked  of  many  things.  Persi 
flage,  and  the  masking  quality  of  ordinary  conver 
sation,  were  forgotten.  The  gravity  and  responsi 
bility  of  individual  life  were  shown  to  me  as  never 
before;  its  dignity  and  possibilities. 

161 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

Ambition  with  him  was  not  personal,  but  a  high 
duty:  something  beyond  himself,  embracing 
others.  It  was  a  wholesome  and  satisfying  feast, 
this  insight  into  a  nature  where  worldly  success 
had  not  destroyed  simplicity,  and  where  power 
was  used  only  for  service.  All  I  had  read  or 
heard  of  this  man  had  told  me  nothing  of  the 
inner  personality,  which  is,  after  all,  the  reality  of 
all  men.  His  moral  loneliness  and  his  almost 
childlike  appreciation  of  personal  kindness 
showed  a  pathos  of  which  he  was  quite  uncon 
scious. 

He  questioned  me  minutely  as  to  my  life,  which 
must  have  seemed  to  him  like  "sounding  brass  or 
a  tinkling  cymbal."  Sometimes  when  Alwyn  and  I 
were  together  he  watched  us  with  wistful  curiosity, 
as  though  studying  a  problem  but  vaguely  compre 
hended,  yet  which  he  longed  to  solve. 

One  night,  after  the  others  had  gone  to  their 
rooms,  we  lingered,  strolling  to  and  fro  in  the 
Linden  Walk,  where,  in  the  vaulted  dimness,  our 
faces  were  barely  discernible.  His  cigar  and  the 
fitful  gleam  of  fireflies  were  the  only  light  in  the 
moist  gloom.  We  paced  to  and  fro  without  speak 
ing.  I  was  pleasantly  conscious  of  freedom  from 

162 


VISITING    and    VISITED 


restraint,  as  though  we  were  old  and  tried  friends. 
It  was  difficult  to  realize  that  this  man  had  been  a 
stranger  but  a  few  weeks  before.  I  winced  from 
the  thought  when  he  should  be  gone  from  my  life 
again,  into  the  turmoil  of  his  own  strenuous  exist 
ence. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  as  though  continuing  his  si 
lent  train  of  thought,  "we  are  so  dual.  We  fancy 
we  live  through  our  intellectual  acumen,  ambition, 
impersonal  interest,  when  lo !  suddenly  a  trivial 
thing  will,  like  a  flash,  strip  us  of  our  content.  We 
find  ourselves  in  an  abyss  of  solitude,  surrounded 
by  human  beings,  but  isolated.  We  are  like  mole 
cules — near  to  one  another,  but  always  divided. 
Can  one  soul  ever  really  reach  across  and  touch 
another?" 

"There  you  enter  another  realm,"  I  said.  "It 
is  no  longer  the  intellect,  but  the  heart.  It  is  feel 
ing,  not  thought." 

"You  differentiate  between  feeling  and  emo 
tion?"  he  asked. 

"Men  feel  emotion.  Women's  emotion  is  al 
ways  feeling.  It  goes  deeper  and  lasts  longer,  and 
she  suffers  for  that  reason." 

"You  speak  as  one  having  authority,"  he  said, 
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The  HOUSE  of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

flicking  ashes  from  his  cigar.  "And  yet,  you  have 
never  loved." 

I  looked  up  at  him  with  astonishment. 

"Well,  am  I  not  right?"  he  asked. 

"I  loved  my  husband,"  I  said,  with  a  sudden  in 
definite  doubt  as  to  that  fact  entering  my  mind  for 
the  first  time. 

"Yes !  no  doubt,  as  you  love  your  boy.  But, 
dear  Madame,  there  are  as  many  different  ways  of 
loving  as  there  are  tints  to  a  rose.  The  average 
person  fails  even  faintly  to  comprehend  the  mean 
ing  of  the  word." 

"Of  course,"  I  said,  "we  have  our  dreams  of  an 
immortal  passion,  but  does  it  exist  out  of 
dreams?" 

"No  human  brain  can  conceive  of  a  non-existent 
thing.  If  its  capacity  does  not  exist,  the  dream  is 
not  dreamed." 

We  had  seated  ourselves  on  the  moss-covered 
stone  bench  under  the  trees.  He  leaned  forward, 
his  knotted  hands  hanging  between  his  knees.  He 
sat  silent  for  a  moment,  then  asked  with  boyish 
hesitation,  "May  I  tell  you  my  conception  of  what 
my  dream  might  be?" 

I  nodded,  leaning  back  against  the  tree-trunk. 
164 


VISITING    and    VISITED 


Except  for  ourselves,  the  night  seemed  to  enfold 
an  empty  world. 

"Love!  Love!"  he  said  slowly.  "After  all, 
how  can  I  find  words  for  so  intangible  and  beauti 
ful  a  thing?  It  should  begin  with  intellectual  sym 
pathy,  which  grows  to  friendship,  sincere  and  sane. 
Affection  follows.  Then  tenderness,  flavored  with 
fear.  Then,  and,  mark  you,  last,  passion  glows, 
and  radiates  the  whole.  But  it  takes  the  four  to 
make  perfection.  And  then  it  must  reach  to  the 
depths,  and  ascend  to  purest  heights.  It  must  em 
brace  compassion  and  tolerance.  It  must  raise  up 
and  strengthen,  as  well  as  cherish  and  protect.  It 
must  worship,  yet  for  weakness  give  sympathy  and 
comprehension.  It  must  be  a  glory  and  a  servi 
tude.  It  must  fill  the  human  heart  till  Life's  sor- 
didness  is  forgotten;  yet  be  so  vast  and  of  such 
mighty  strength  that  one's  heart  cannot  hold  it 
all,  and  it  spreads  beyond,  to  the  world  outside, 
where  pain  is.  Of  its  own  joy  must  it  give  to  those 
who  have  none,  and  be  so  deeply  rooted  that,  if 
never  told  and  never  returned,  it  still  can  bless." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  "Is  that  not 
religion?"  I  asked. 

"It  is  a  religion,  or  should  be.  Not  an  episode, 
12  165 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

as  in  most  lives.    And  you — do  you  find  my  dream 
impossible?" 

I  did  not  answer.  I  was  glad  of  the  darkness, 
for  from  some  depth  within  tears  had  risen  and 
lay  on  my  lashes.  A  sense  of  having  been  cheated 
of  Life's  meaning  held  me  silent.  He  had  said 
there  was  no  dream  without  the  capacity.  Doubt 
less,  hidden  in  his  life  of  which  I  knew  so  little, 
such  a  dream  had  been  reality. 

Suddenly  I  felt  like  a  child  shut  out  in  dark 
ness,  from  where  I  could  see  light,  warmth,  and 
shelter,  but  not  for  me.  Not  a  few  men  had  said 
they  loved  me,  but  what  pinchbeck  had  their  love 
been:  a  thing  of  air  where  passion  had  masquer 
aded  as  Love,  and  wounded  vanity  brought  speedy 
forgetfulness.  A  strange  sense  of  isolation  seized 
me,  acute  and  keenly  painful.  This  self-contained 
man  beside  me,  had  he  known  its  glory?  I  studied 
the  motionless  profile  which  seemed  to  hide  many 
things  I  longed  to  know.  Suddenly  he  leaned  for 
ward,  peering  at  me  in  the  gloom. 

"Why  this  silence?"  he  asked  lightly.  "Have  I 
bored  you  with  my  rhapsodies?  You  have  not  an 
swered  my  question.  Do  you  find  my  dream  im 
possible?" 

1 66 


VISITING    and    VISITED 


With  an  effort  I  answered  in  a  voice  as  light  as 
his  own. 

"What  you  said  reminds  me  of  Turner's  pic 
tures.  They  are  of  actualities,  but  so  transfigured 
by  poetic  conception  as  hardly  to  be  recognized." 

"I  am  at  least  glad  that  you  admit  their  actual 
ity,"  he  said,  smiling.  "You  see,  I  am  educating 
you." 

I  rose.  Holding  out  my  skirts,  I  courtesied  low 
before  him. 

"I  most  humbly  thank  you,  O  master,"  said  I, 
laughing.  "But  it  is  safer  to  learn  by  experience 
of  others  than  from  one's  own." 

"And  if "  he  began,  leaning  forward.  But 

I  moved  away,  shaking  a  warning  finger.  "It  is 
scandalously  late,  and  time  we  were  off  to  the  land 
where  other  dreams  await  us." 

He  rose  reluctantly,  and  we  went  toward  the 
house.  In  the  hall  we  met  Margaret,  candle  in 
hand,  trouble  wrritten  on  her  sleepy  countenance. 

"What  do  you  suppose  is  going  to  happen  now? 
Here  is  a  notification  from  the  Mayor,  saying  that 
the  maneuvers  of  the  army  are  to  take  place  near 
here  and  asking  how  many  officers  we  can  furnish 
with  bed  and  board.  Twelve  hundred  men  are  to 

167 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

be  quartered  in  our  village,  if  you  please!  What 
they  are  to  sleep  on,  and  what  they  are  to  eat  and 
drink,  is  beyond  me.  I  don't  know  of  a  hen-roost 
which  is  untenanted.  As  for  officers !" 

Speech  failed  her. 

"And  I  came  for  a  'rest  cure',"  said  I,  laughing. 

"But  what  shall  we  do?"  she  asked  despair 
ingly. 

"Ask  the  Treasure,"  suggested  Ashburne. 

"Of  course!  Bud,  you  are  a  clever  creature. 
She  knows  about  officers,  her  father  being  one. 
But  even  she  can't  perform  the  miracle  of  the 
loaves  and  fishes,  to  say  nothing  of  sheets  and 
pillow-cases." 

"The  'Bon  Marche'  and  Totin'  can,"  said  I. 

"Think  of  Isidore  and  his  splendiferous  gar 
den.  It  will  look  like  Pharoah's  garden  after  the 
locusts  had  dined.  We  will  have  to  live  on  Amer 
ican  canned  vegetables  the  rest  of  our  sojourn,"  I 
said,  with  a  grimace. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Ashburne.  "It  isn't  so  informal 
as  all  that.  Beside,  they  pay  for  what  they  take. 
By  the  way,  I  was  going  to-morrow,  but  it  is  my 
plain  duty  to  remain.  You  can't  possibly  receive 
them  in  a  manless  house." 

168 


This  unselfish  suggestion  Margaret  received 
with  a  quizzical  smile  and  profound  assurance  of 
her  appreciation. 

The  following  Sunday  scouts  arrived  to  ascer 
tain  how  many  officers  we  could  accommodate. 
Sixteen,  we  said,  was  our  limit.  A  few  hours  later 
they  began  to  arrive,  heralded  by  clouds  of  dust, 
and  the  dull  tramp  of  thousands  of  feet:  a  sound 
never  heard  before  by  me,  save  to  martial  music 
and  acclaiming  crowds.  It  had  an  ominous 
sound;  this  sullen  vibration  along  our  peaceful 
roads,  where  larks  sprang  into  the  blue,  songless, 
and  affrighted.  It  articulated  war,  ruthless  and 
terrible. 

They  poured  into  our  village,  swarmed  into 
fields,  camped  in  gardens  and  amid  graves  in  the 
little  cemetery.  Their  one  cry  was  for  water,  and 
it  became  a  serious  question,  as  our  supply  was  lim 
ited. 

Twilight  saw  flames,  from  brasiers  filled  with 
charcoal,  springing  in  all  directions,  each  with  its 
shadowy  group  of  squatting  figures,  watching  Isi 
dore's  cherished  potatoes  roast,  while  corks 
popped,  and  songs  and  jests  mingled  with  clatter 
of  arms. 

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The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

The  commanding  officer  proved  to  be  a  delight 
ful,  white-haired  martinet.  With  him  were  the 
Foreign  Representatives:  an  Englishman,  big  and 
silent;  a  German,  whose  heels  continually  clicked 
together  as  he  bowed  his  little  bows  to  the  ladies; 
also  an  Italian,  with  fierce  mustache,  and  the 
air  of  a  startled  fawn.  Several  times  I  found  the 
latter  eyeing  the  Archangel  with  puzzled  scrutiny, 
but  he  had  no  opportunity  for  conversation,  as 
Monturbia  kept  out  of  the  way.  Our  limit  of  six 
teen  stretched  to  twenty-two.  Some  slept  on  the 
salon  floor,  wrapped  in  their  own  blankets. 

The  dinner  that  night  was  charming.  We  made 
proper  toilettes  for  the  occasion,  and,  although 
both  plates  and  cutlery  were  lacking,  laughter  and 
chatter  were  plentiful.  After  dinner  the  Italian 
sang  superbly  to  my  accompaniment,  while  the 
General  paid  boyish  court  to  Lillian,  who  rose  to 
the  occasion  like  a  fish  in  familiar  waters.  Once, 
happening  to  glance  at  Monturbia,  I  surprised  him 
watching  Lillian  with  an  intensity  which  startled 
me  unpleasantly.  But  as  he  caught  my  eye,  the 
impression  vanished,  and,  fancying  it  a  trick  of 
swaying  candle-light,  I  put  it  from  my  mind.  How 
ever,  it  left  a  disagreeable  sense  of  something 

170 


VISITING    and    VISITED 


which  evaded,  but  I  reassured  myself  with  the 
thought  of  her  suave  indifference  toward  him,  her 
disapproval  of  all  he  represented,  and  laughed  at 
my  momentary  fear.  To  be  sure,  the  intimacy  of 
our  life  had  thrown  them  much  together,  but 
frankly  and  wholesomely.  Doubtless  he  admired 
her;  who  could  help  it?  But  surely  he  would  not 
dare  to  regard  meeting  her  other  than  as  a 
charming  incident. 


CHAPTER  IX 

REVELATIONS 

THE  next  morning  I  was  aroused  from  slum 
ber  by  a  rat-a-tat-tat  on  my  door,  and  a 
stentorian  voice  bellowing:  "C'est  trois 
henres,  mon  Capitainef" 

I  sat  up  in  bed  half  awake. 

"What?"  I  demanded. 

The  door  flew  open.  Alas!  I  had  forgotten  to 
lock  it,  and  a  large  red  head  protruded  through 
the  aperture.  His  rubicund  face  paled  with  fright 
when  he  saw  my  tousled  head  where  his  "Capi- 
taine's"  should  have  been.  The  door  slammed, 
and  I  heard  him  go  down  to  Margaret's  room, 
and  again:  "C'est  trois  heures,  mon  Capitaine!" 

Then  Margaret's  wrathful  voice  :  "I'm  not  your 
Capitaine.  He  is  down  on  the  billiard  table." 

It  was  dawn.  Hurriedly  dressing,  I  ran  down 
stairs.  The  court  swarmed  with  men  and  horses. 
Bugles  sounded.  Hoarse  cries,  jingling  spurs 
sounded,  swords  glittered  and  clanked.  All  was 

172 


"The  door  flew  open    .    .    .    and  a  large  red  head  protruded 
through  the  aperture." 

confusion  and  bustle.  Orderlies  hurried  to  and 
fro;  while  beneath  the  beech  trees  the  General 
studied  maps  spread  on  the  kitchen  table,  sur 
rounded  by  officers. 

Breakfast  was  eaten  standing,  in  a  babel  of 
sound  and  movement.  Out  in  the  village,  battal 
ions  formed  and  marched  away  to  the  beat  of 
drums.  Men  and  women  swarmed  in  doorways 
and  windows.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  Henriette's 

173 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

and  Jean's  laughing  faces  framed  in  the  ivy  of  the 
granary  window,  and,  as  though  impelled,  my  eyes 
were  drawn  from  them  to  the  church  steps  oppo 
site,  where  stood  the  Mayor's  wife,  watching  them 
with  narrowed  eyes  from  behind  her  husband's 
brawny  back.  Madame  Philon,  preening  her 
handsome  person  in  her  doorway,  dispensed  smiles 
broadcast  as  the  masculine  host  marched  by. 

When  the  last  straggler  had  disappeared,  we 
returned  to  the  house,  which  resembled  a  recently 
vacated  lunatic  asylum.  Isidore,  with  a  face  of 
tragic  fury,  declared  it  was  high  time  the  Kings 
of  France  should  bestir  themselves,  and  put  down 
this  ungodly  republic,  where  an  honest  man  could 
not  even  call  a  cabbage  his  own. 

By  ten  o'clock  partial  order  was  restored,  and 
we  started  to  follow  the  soldiers  to  the  scene  of 
action.  Our  guide  was  the  cloud  of  dust  which 
hung  above  the  marching  host.  I  was  greatly  dis 
appointed  to  learn  that  we  could  only  skirt  the  bat 
tlefield;  for  I  had  fondly  imagined  we  were  to  be 
quite  cozily  elbow-to-elbow  with  the  General  and 
his  Staff;  perhaps  to  have  suggested  picturesque 
places  for  the  scene  of  mimic  slaughter. 

But  no;  we  were  summarily  ordered  to  remain 
174 


REVELATIONS 


safely  out  of  the  way  on  a  hill  under  some  trees, 
and  to  this  day  I  know  no  more  of  war's  horrid 
mysteries  than  I  did  before. 

From  our  vantage  ground  we  saw  cavalry  tear 
across  peaceful  fields;  men  swarm  up  one  hill  and 
down  another.  We  heard  cannon  roar,  and  rifles 
crackling  like  fire-works  on  a  Fourth  of  July. 
Smoke  rolled  in  billows  from  the  edge  of  a  wood, 
and  far  away  on  a  hillside  a  group  of  men  stood, 
watching  through  field-glasses.  It  all  seemed  mean 
ingless  and  exceedingly  hard  work  for  a  hot  sum 
mer's  day;  and  one  pitied  those  human  machines 
as,  hour  after  hour,  they  marched  and  "double- 
stepped,"  while  the  sun  climbed  a  brazen  sky.  All 
that  they  might  become  skillful  in  the  art  of 
killing. 

The  Archangel  seemed  strangely  silent.  An 
expression  of  bitterness  marred  his  look  of  eternal 
youth.  He  threw  himself  at  my  feet  after  lunch 
eon. 

"How  I  hate  it  all !"  he  exclaimed  savagely. 
"Can  humanity  find  no  saner  way  to  settle  its  dif 
ferences  than  that?"  pointing  a  scornful  finger  to 
where  troops  ran  to  and  fro  like  frenzied  ants. 
"All  that  waste  of  brain  and  nerve-tissue,  beside 

175 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

countless  amounts  of  money,  utilized  to  such  Ig 
noble  ends.  Think  of  the  good  accomplished  were 
it  given  other  outlets,  while  a  few  master-minds 
met  together  to  settle  differences.  How  undigni 
fied  it  all  is.  Look  at  them,  like  children  practic 
ing  for  a  game  in  pretty  uniforms.  But  what  hor 
ror  this  game  means !  The  anguish,  the  pain  and 
terror,  the  poverty  and  suffering  at  home,  where 
widows  and  orphans  live  to  bear  the  burden  meant 
to  be  shared  by  their  shoulders.  The  wrong  cries 
to  Heaven.  Will  the  time  never  come  when  men 
will  lay  down  their  arms  and  say  to  those  who  gov 
ern  them :  'We  refuse  to  murder.  We  refuse  to 
throw  away  our  lives  for  your  selfish  ends.  We 
are  brothers,  of  one  Father,  who  commanded  us 
to  love  one  another'  ?" 

"You  speak  like  a  socialist,"  I  said. 

"What  do  you  call  a  socialist?"  he  asked 
gravely. 

"Somebody  who  wishes  to  upset  the  existing  or 
der  of  society." 

"Then  I  am  not  one.  I  do  not  wish  to  upset  any 
kind  of  'order.'  I  would  wish  to  end  disorder." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean,  to  end  this  farce  of  so-called  civiliza- 
176 


REVELATIONS 


tion,  which  preaches  the  beatitudes  to  the  heathen 
in  dark  corners  of  the  world,  and  calls  for  eighty 
million  pounds'  worth  of  war-ships  at  home.  To 
put  an  end  to  the  support  of  idle  aunts,  uncles,  and 
cousins  of  royalty,  while  the  poor  crowd  the  gut 
ters,  searching  for  bread.  To  end  this  withdrawal 
of  the  rich  from  contact  with  the  misery  of  the 
poor.  Christ  preached  His  Gospel  while  home 
less.  His  'servants'  live  in  palaces,  draw  fat  sal 
aries,  and  cultivate  agreeable  conversation  for 
dinner-parties.  The  Pope — where  was  he  when 
Messina  went  down  in  fire  and  blood?  Did  he 
hasten  from  his  palace  to  comfort  and  succor  his 
people,  as  his  Master  would  have  done?  Did  he 
go  about  among  those  homeless,  bereft  wretches, 
personally  aiding  and  assuaging  their  sufferings? 
No !  he  sent  a  telegram  of  condolence  to  the 
Mayor,  who  was  safely  in  Heaven  with  his  entire 
family,  and  a  check." 

As  he  spoke,  Ashburne  and  Lillian  joined  us. 
I  saw  Monturbia  glance  apprehensively  at  the  for 
mer,  as  though  conscious  of  some  folly.  The  tragic 
earnestness  left  his  face. 

"I'm  airing  my  hobby,"  he  said  lightly;  and 
then,  springing  to  his  feet,  suggested  our  going 

177 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

down  to  the  river,  whose  bending  willows  Mar 
garet  was  sketching.  He  and  Lillian  strolled 
ahead.  Ashburne  followed  them  with  serious 
eyes. 

"Do  you  think  that  quite  wise?"  he  asked. 

"You  mean  Lillian  and  that  beautiful  youth?" 
I  said,  surprised  by  the  gravity  of  his  voice.  "Per 
haps  you  don't  know  that  she  regards  a  Latin  in 
the  same  light  as  champagne — fizzy  but  not  filling; 
principally  gas.  It  is  her  Bridgeport  training. 
She  could  never  regard  him  as  a  real  man,  you 
know." 

"Are  you  sure?     What  if  she  did?" 

"What  a  dreadful  idea !  You  make  me  quite 
nervous." 

"It  would  be  a  pity,"  he  replied.  "A  pity  for 
all  concerned." 

He  hesitated,  as  though  about  to  add  some 
thing,  but  relapsed  into  silence.  We  turned  down 
a  narrow  path  and  followed  the  stream,  whose  rip 
pling  voice  was  an  accompaniment  to  our  own. 

Sunlight  dappled  and  flickered  on  eddies  and 
shadowed  pools.  Under  a  bank  we  found  Alwyn 
alone,  bent  double,  bare-footed.  He  was  running 
here  and  there,  peering  intently  at  the  moist 

178 


REVELATIONS 


ground.  He  raised  a  warning  hand,  and  in  a  whis 
per  bade  us  halt. 

"I'm  on  their  track,"  he  hissed.  "I'm  Red 
Feather  of  Bloody  Gulch,  and  the  White  Man 
shall  not  escape  my  vengeance.  I  will  track  him 
to  his  doom,  and  his  scalp  shall  dry  at  the  door  of 
my  wigwam." 

He  was  lost  to  realities,  scanning  tiny  bird- 
tracks  in  the  damp  earth.  He  ran  them  to  cover 
at  last  in  a  beaver's  hole  with  a  triumphant  war- 
whoop,  and,  after  executing  a  war-dance  of  horri 
fying  realism,  consented  to  become  a  little  boy 
once  more,  and  joined  us  beneath  a  willow. 

"You  like  to  play  Indian,  too,  don't  you?"  he 
asked  Ashburne,  writh  a  confidential  nod. 

"No  doubt  I  did  once  upon  a  time,  but  it  is  many 
years  since  I  followed  your  blood-thirsty  profes 
sion." 

My  son  opened  brown  eyes  wide. 

"Oh,  I  say!  You  mustn't  hedge,  you  know.  I 
saw  you  tracking  only  yesterday,  exactly  as  I  do. 
You  were  looking,  looking,  and  when  you  found 
a  clear  track,  you  bent  down  and  stroked  it,  so  the 
other  Indians  couldn't  find  it." 

Ashburne  stared,  bewildered;  then  I  saw  the 
179 


The  HOUSE  of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

blood  slowly  dye  his  face  deep  crimson,  while, 
with  an  embarrassed  laugh,  he  endeavored  to 
change  the  conversation.  But  Alwyn  was  full  of 
the  subject. 

"Yes,  I  was  up  a  tree,  just  over  your  head,  and  I 
saw.  It  was  only  Dear's  foot-prints.  One  can  al 
ways  tell  them,  she  has  such  dreadfully  little  feet, 
hasn't  she?  And  wears  such  silly  little  shoes  with 
heels  like  stilts.  But  you  should  never  stroke  a 
track.  It  spoils  the  scent." 

I  looked  straight  ahead,  strangling  a  wild  de 
sire  to  laugh.  There  was  a  painful  silence,  during 
which  no  doubt  the  big  Indian  longed  to  throttle 
the  little  Indian. 

"You  shouldn't  call  your  mother's  shoes  silly, 
my  boy.  It  isn't  polite." 

"But  they  are  silly,  and  a  man  must  be  truthful, 
you  know.  And  I  am  polite  to  Dear.  I  button 
her  up  behind  when  Henriette  isn't  there,  and  she 
says  no  one  can  brush  her  hair  as  well  as  I  can. 
You  see,  I'm  learning  to  be  polite,  because  Dear 
wants  me  to  be  an  Ambassador  when  I  grow  up. 
They  keep  the  peace  of  nations,  she  says,  that  way, 
instead  of  fighting.  But  I'd  rather  be  a  soldier. 
When  I  get  angry  I  forget  about  politeness,  and 

180 


REVELATIONS 


just  want  to  lick  the  other  fellow.  It  seems  easier 
somehow." 

We  all  laughed. 

"Yes,  old  chap,"  said  Ashburne,  "it  does  seem 
easier,  but  then  the  other  fellow  licks  you  some 
times,  and  then  what?" 

"Oh !  I  don't  mind,  if  he  is  bigger  than  I  am.  I 
hit  as  hard  as  I  can  above  the  belt  and  do  my  best. 
If  one  gets  hurt,  one  doesn't  cry,  you  know.  That 
isn't  sporting." 

"Quite  right,  my  boy.  Crying  never  helps  mat 
ters.  We  all  get  beaten  one  way  or  another,  but 
there  are  other  ways  of  being  strong  than  with  the 
fists.  Gentleness  is  sometimes  the  greater  strength, 
and  kindness  a  better  weapon." 

Alwyn  nodded. 

"That  is  what  the  Mayor  is.  You  know  how 
tremendously  strong  he  is,  yet  he  is  awfully  kind. 
I  heard  the  post-mistress  say  he  is  kind  even  to 
Madame  Philon.  He  gives  her  petticoats  all 
trimmed  with  lace  like  Dear's.  She  wears  them 
when  she  goes  to  Paris  with  him.  Jean  is  kind, 
too.  He  is  just  too  nice  to  Henriette  for  words. 
She  was  crying  the  other  day  in  the  'basse  cour,' 
and  he  kissed  her  just  as  though  she  was  his  own 
13  181 


The  HOUSE  of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

little  sister.  It  seemed  to  make  her  feel  a  lot  bet 
ter." 

"You  seem  to  know  a  great  deal,"  said  I, 
"about  other  people's  affairs.  You  should  be  look 
ing  after  your  own,  my  son." 

"But  I  do,  dearest  Dear.  And  it  is  my  affair, 
for  aren't  they  all  my  friends?  They  don't  mind 
me,  being  only  a  little  boy.  Isidore  says  I'm  like 
asparagus:  the  more  you  cut  it  down  and  cover  it 
up,  the  more  it  keeps  on.  It's  better  to  let  me 
alone." 

"On  the  theory:  'Chain  up  a  child,  and  a\vay  he 
will  go',"  said  Ashburne. 

"It  keeps  a  fellow  pretty  busy,"  said  Alwyn 
gravely.  "There  seems  a  lot  to  do.  Jean  gives  me 
lessons  in  carving.  He  makes  the  most  beautiful 
crucifixes  in  ivory,  and  funny  little  images  he  says 
are  Japanese  gods.  He  sells  them  in  Paris  to  a 
man  who  sells  them  as  real  Japanese.  But  it  is 
the  man,  and  not  Jean,  who  does  the  lying.  Then 
I  have  to  help  Cousin  Lillian  and  Mr.  Monturbia 
with  French.  They  are  like  me;  they  don't  use 
books  much,  for  their  grammar  hasn't  half  its 
leaves  cut.  They  think  talking  the  best  way.  But 
they  don't  talk  about  sensible  things  much,  like 

182 


REVELATIONS 


Indians  and  wild  beasts.  It  is  always  about  what 
he  thinks  and  she  thinks,  and  what  they  both  feel 
about  all  kinds  of  foolish  things.  Girls  are  so 
queer!" 

Ashburne  gianced  at  me  significantly. 

"Why,  Alwyn,"  I  said.  "They  see  so  little  of 
each  other." 

"But  they  are  a  lot  together,"  replied  my  ob 
servant  son.  "It  does  seem  as  though  they  couldn't 
miss  each  other,  no  matter  where  they  start  from. 
He  starts  one  way  and  she  another,  but  they  al 
ways  seem  to  come  back  the  same  way." 

"Quite  like  a  game  of  fox  and  goose,"  said  I. 

"Yes!  just  like  that.  But  if  they  meet  they  al 
ways  ask  me  to  stay.  Perhaps  they  are  shy.  I 
know  how  it  is.  At  dancing-school  it  always  was 
easier  if  another  chap  hung  around  to  talk  a  bit." 

"Was  it?"  said  Ashburne.  "I  don't  always  find 
it  so." 

"But  you  are  a  grown-up.  Besides,  men  don't 
bother  with  girls.  That  is,  real  men  like  you.  I 
say,  don't  you  think  Cousin  Lillian  has  the  loveli 
est  hair!  It  is  like  the  shiny  stuff  they  put  on 
Christmas  trees.  I  asked  Mr.  Monturbia  if  he 
didn't  think  so,  and  he  said  it  was  far  prettier." 

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The  HOUSE  of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

"Really?"  I  said.  "And  what  else  did  Mr. 
Monturbia  say?" 

"Oh!  he  talked  like  poetry;  something  about 
moon-beams  caught  in  a  fairy's  web,  and  stuff  like 
that." 

"All  about  her?"  asked  Ashburne. 

"Mostly.  He  always  finds  a  lot  to  say  about 
her,  and  as  for  listening! — he  is  just  great  on  lis 
tening.  I  tell  him  about  her  aunt  at  home,  Bridge 
port,  and  the  sleigh-rides.  He  didn't  exactly  like 
the  idea  of  her  having  been  in  the  sleighs  built 
just  for  two.  Said  it  was  dangerous.  When  I  ex 
plained  how  hard  they  were  to  upset,  he  laughed, 
and  said  he  hadn't  meant  the  sleigh,  but  other 
things." 

"No  doubt,"  said  I.  "In  Italy,  sleighs  built  for 
two  would  shock  society  as  much  as  Messina's 
earthquake." 

"He  says  he  is  going  there,"  continued 
Alwyn. 

"To  Messina?"  I  asked 

"No!  to  Bridgeport.  I  promised  to  show  him 
how  to  play  base-ball." 

As  he  spoke,  a  cannon  roared  alarmingly  near. 
The  earth  reverberated  as  though  shaken  by  Ti- 

184 


REVELATIONS 


tanic  hands.  Margaret  called  to  us.  Lillian  and 
Monturbia  came  running  down  the  slope.  We 
fled  up  through  the  trees  to  our  hillock,  and  only 
just  in  time,  for  close  at  our  heels  swarmed  hun 
dreds  of  soldiers,  hatless,  begrimed,  wading  ankle 
deep  in  the  stream,  evidently  routed  and  hotly  pur 
sued  by  the  enemy.  Wild  cries,  hoarse  commands, 
and  thud  of  galloping  hoofs  drowned  the  song  of 
birds  and  the  ripple  of  water.  The  human  whirl 
wind  passed  on  and  away  to  the  open  country  be 
yond,  while  artillery  thundered  from  the  hill  be 
hind  us. 

The  sun  was  setting  in  gory  splendor,  and  we 
decided  it  was  time  to  move  homewards,  to  pre 
pare  for  hungry  warriors.  Returning  through  the 
battle-field,  we  were  thankful  that  no  dead  lay 
among  the  wheat-stacks. 

It  was  long  after  dark  when  the  men  came 
pouring  into  the  village,  foot-sore  and  weary. 
Many  were  fainting  from  exhaustion,  and  pite- 
ously  begged  for  water.  Our  kind  though  naughty 
Mayor  ordered  all  his  farm-hands  to  pass  buckets 
with  Isidore  and  his  sons,  from  our  respective 
wells,  among  the  prostrate  figures,  fallen  where 
they  could,  on  the  cobbles  of  the  street,  and  against 

185 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

the  road-side  hedges.  Too  exhausted  to  eat,  many 
slept  where  they  fell,  heads  pillowed  on  their 
arms. 

Firelight  from  charcoal  brasiers  danced  fantas 
tically  on  cottage  walls  and  huddled  figures,  above 
which  smoke  wreathed  and  twisted  in  the  wind 
less  air.  Our  little  hamlet  seemed  transformed 
into  a  thing  of  pain  and  evil,  as  though  a  Spirit  of 
Cruelty  stalked  there,  brutalizing  and  callous.  As 
Monturbia  had  said:  "All  this  to  teach  men  the 
art  of  killing  their  fellow-men!" 

Later,  however,  all  was  life  and  gayety  at  our 
hospitable  board.  The  officers,  gratified  by  a  suc 
cessful  day,  made  every  effort  to  charm.  Gen 
eral  B ,  at  the  close  of  the  dinner,  rose,  glass 

in  hand,  and  with  delightful  grace  proposed  a 
toast  in  our  honor,  to  which  the  others  responded 
with  ringing  cheers.  Then  a  charming  thing  oc 
curred. 

Our  big  American  flag  was  brought  from  its 
staff  on  the  lawn.  The  officers  held  the  edges,  and 
in  a  moment  it  was  suspended  like  a  tent  above 
the  table,  the  men  standing  on  their  chairs.  Then 
they  all  sang  the  "Marseillaise,"  holding  our  flag 
above  us.  Their  voices  rang  strong  and  spirited 

186 


REVELATIONS 


through  the  old  house,  and  out  through  the  open 
windows  to  the  tired  men  lying  beneath  the  stars. 
It  was  all  very  jolly  and  foreign,  and  when  the 
white-haired  General  proposed  three  cheers,  one 
felt  they  were  no  longer  "ships  that  pass  in  the 
night,"  but  comrades. 

As  we  passed  out  to  the  terrace  for  coffee,  I  saw 
Monturbia  talking  earnestly  to  the  Italian  officer. 
He  had  his  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder,  and 
seemed  to  dominate  the  older  man.  My  curiosity 
roused,  I  went  toward  them,  but  they  moved  away 
down  the  lawn,  and  I  saw  no  more  of  them. 

I  went  to  bed  distinctly  disturbed.  Alwyn's  in 
nocent  disclosures  had  opened  my  eyes  to  several 
things.  First  of  all,  had  I,  in  my  selfish  absorp 
tion,  allowed  an  awkward  situation  to  arise  re 
garding  Lillian?  I  tried  to  remember  any  signs 
of  her  interest  in  Monturbia,  but  in  vain.  Her 
tranquillity  had  apparently  remained  undisturbed. 
Perhaps  he  had  succumbed  temporarily  to  her 
grace  and  charm.  If  so,  probably  no  harm  would 
accrue  other  than  a  heart-ache  for  a  few  weeks. 
But,  even  as  I  thus  consoled  myself,  an  uncom 
fortable  doubt  as  to  that  young  man's  powers  of 
taking  things  lightly  gave  my  conscience  a  sharp 

187 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

twinge.  He  had  not  appeared  to  be  of  a  super 
ficial  make-up.  I  should  have  remembered  that 
we  were  not  in  Arcady,  and  that  youth,  beauty, 
and  propinquity  were  a  dangerous  combination. 

I  could  not  sleep,  and  tossed  and  turned  in 
wretched  uneasiness.  But  through  it  all,  like  a 
pure  stream  from  a  hidden  spring  in  unknown 
depths,  welled  one  thought  of  exquisite  joy.  I 
smiled;  yes,  even  laughed  softly  aloud  in  the  dark 
ness,  as  Alwyn's  ingenuous  tale  repeated  itself  in 
my  wakeful  brain.  "He,"  too,  had  played  Indian, 
and  stroked  the  foot-print !  Was  there  ever  any 
thing  so  delightfully  foolish?  How  supremely 
idiotic,  and  yet,  how  dear!  The  remembrance  of 
that  bronzed  face  covered  by  that  mounting  crim 
son,  and  its  look  of  boyish  embarrassment,  filled 
me  with  tremulous  joy. 

The  room  was  stifling.  Springing  from  my 
bed,  I  went  to  the  window.  The  park  lay  asleep 
in  the  starlight.  Not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen.  But 
yes !  there,  beneath  the  giant  beech  before  Lillian's 
window,  a  figure  was  discernible,  motionless. 
Even  as  I  looked,  it  came  out  from  the  shadow, 
and  paced  to  and  fro  on  the  edge  of  the  lawn.  It 
was  the  Archangel,  bare-headed,  hands  clasped  be- 

188 


REVELATIONS 


hind  him,  shoulders  bent  as  though  beneath  a  bur 
den. 

In  a  trice  my  hair  was  knotted  up.  Hastily  dress 
ing,  I  slipped  into  a  tea-gown,  and  was  halfway 
downstairs  before  I  awoke  to  my  own  folly.  The 
house  was  full  of  men.  The  court  on  the  other 
side  was  like  a  camp.  Beside,  what  had  I  to  say 
to  Monturbia,  or  he  to  me?  My  imagination  had 
perhaps  woven  a  tissue  of  complications  which  had 
no  foundation  in  fact.  But,  feeling  committed,  I 
went  on  and,  silently  as  a  shadow,  let  myself  out 
at  the  side  door.  Not  a  creature  stirred.  There 
was  only  the  sound  of  Monturbia's  foof-steps, 
muffled  on  the  turf.  I  waited  for  him  and  softly 
spoke  his  name. 

He  came  forward,  not  at  all  surprised  appar 
ently  to  see  me  there.  His  face  was  white  and 
drawn.  Laying  my  fingers  on  his  arm,  I  drew  him 
into  the  gloom  of  the  Linden  Walk  to  the  stone 
bench  of  other  memories.  He  stood  before  me 
with  bent  head,  as  I  sat  looking  up  at  him. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "tell  me." 

"You  know,"  he  said  quietly.  "You  know  that 
I  love  her." 

"And  so  it  is  true.     Have  you  told  her?" 
189 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

He  threw  back  his  head  haughtily. 

"Madame!  how  can  you  ask  me  such  a  thing? 
Have  I  not  honor?  She  never  dreams  of  it.  As 
for  me,  it  can  never,  perhaps,  be  anything  but  a 


"  '  I  will  tell  you  everything,'  he  said." 

dream — a  dream  of  Heaven:  something  to  re 
member  as  one  does  a  prayer.  Oh !  I  am  the  most 
unfortunate  of  men!  Why  can't  I  lay  aside  scru 
ples  and  claim  happiness,  or  at  least  do  what  I  can 
to  attain  it?  What  is  conscience?  What  is  right 
and  wrong?  Why  fight  what  may,  after  all,  prove 

190 


REVELATIONS 


to  be  a  windmill?     If  you  only  knew,  Madame! 
If  you  only  knew!" 

He  left  me  and  paced  to  and  fro,  his  face  in 
his  hands,  distraught.  I  sat  motionless,  over 
whelmed  with  this  disaster,  stung  with  remorse 
that  I  had  allowed  such  a  situation  to  develop.  I 
felt  dumb  before  a  torrent  about  to  break  its 
bounds  and  sweep  barriers  away.  A  heavy  silence 
fell.  Something  like  a  sob  struck  through  the  dark 
ness,  as  though  wrung  from  a  grief  so  profound 
as  to  mock  at  consolation.  At  last  he  threw  him 
self  beside  me. 

"I  will  tell  you  everything,"  he  said.  "It  is  best. 
At  least  you  shall  know  me  as  I  am.  But  I  beg 
you,  dear  Madame,  to  promise  me  you  will  not 
tell  her." 

I  patted  his  cold  hand  as  I  would  have  soothed 
my  own  son. 

"Tell  me  everything.  Secrets  corrode  the  heart. 
I  am  your  friend.  You  may  trust  me  as  fully  as 
I  believe  in  you." 

"It  is  a  long  story,  Madame.  It  began  at  my 
birth.  You  may  have  guessed  there  were  things 
hidden.  Monturbia  is  not  all  my  name.  I  am 
Prince  Faustino  Monturbia  di  Torano." 

191 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

"Son  of  Prince  Pauldino  di  Torano  of  Rome?" 
I  exclaimed,  in  astonishment.  "Brother  of  the 
Cardinal?" 

"Yes,  Madame.    I  am  his  only  child." 

"Then  you  bear  one  of  the  greatest  names  in 
Italy,  and  I  know  your  Palazzo — the  most  splen 
did  in  Rome.  Tell  me,  my  friend,  why  are  you 
masquerading  here?" 

"That  is  my  story,  Madame.  My  mother  died 
when  I  was  seven.  My  father  centered  all  his 
love  and  pride  of  race  in  me.  I  was  trained  in 
all  the  medievalism  and  egotism  of  our  house; 
but  when  I  grew  to  manhood,  I  grew  beyond 
them.  I  am  a  Modern.  My  father  believes  that 
those  who  bear  our  name  are  not  of  the  same 
flesh  and  blood  as  lesser  mortals.  I  love  my  fel 
low-men,  and  feel  myself  one  of  them.  He  thinks 
we  can  do  no  wrong  so  long  as  we  hold  ourselves 
aloof  from  the  common  paths  trodden  by  other 
men.  I  wanted  to  walk  with  my  brothers — to 
help  where  I  could.  My  father  could  not  under 
stand  that  I  wanted  to  give  because  so  much  had 
been  given  to  me.  I  stifled  in  our  palaces.  I 
feasted,  knowing  that  others  lacked  bread." 

"Had  he  no  pity  for  the  poor?" 
192 


REVELATIONS 


"Oh,  yes !  in  an  impersonal  fashion.  He  gave 
alms,  but  that  is  not  the  charity  which  Christ 
taught.  They  want  sympathy  and  understanding. 
My  father  demanded  that  I  ignore  such  condi 
tions.  I  could  not.  He  begged,  implored,  then 
threatened.  We  had  scenes  at  the  memory  of 
which  I  shudder;  bitter  words,  injustice  on  both 
sides.  We  loved  each  other,  and  we  were  break 
ing  each  other's  hearts.  It  was  horrible!" 

"You  poor  child!"  I  said.  "It  sounds  like  the 
Middle  Ages." 

"Yes!  At  last  my  father's  wrath  overcame  his 
love.  One  night  he  bade  me  go  out  into  the  world, 
with  which  I  had  more  sympathy  than  with  him. 
He  told  me,  with  contempt,  to  try  what  human 
brotherhood  would  do  for  me :  to  live  as  the  poor, 
and  with  them.  Perhaps  it  would  cure  my  madness. 
He  wished  never  to  see  me  again  until  I  could  re 
turn  repentant.  Oh!  I  see  him  now,  Madame,  his 
white  head — his  trembling  finger  pointing  me 
from  the  room  where  I  had  played  as  a  child  with 
my  beautiful  mother.  And  so  I  went;  and  in  go 
ing,  I  lost,  of  course,  all  power  of  usefulness. 
Sympathy  without  money  and  power  goes  but  a 
short  way  on  the  road  of  helpfulness.  I  was  un- 

193 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

fitted  for  work,  ignorant  of  the  world  outside  the 
garden  which  had  sheltered  me.  I  became  a  bur 
den  to  myself,  and  feared  horribly  that  I  might 
become  a  burden  to  others.  Work  was  hard  to 
find.  There  were  so  many  more  efficient  than  I. 
I  am  undone.  I  cannot  go  back  unless  it  is  to 
live  a  lie.  That  I  cannot  do.  I  am  adrift, 
lonely,  and  in  despair." 

He  paused.  What  words  could  I  find  to  as 
suage  such  pain?  He  sat  motionless,  staring  into 
the  darkness. 

''Cher  ami,"  I  said  gently,  "there  was  an  Eng 
lishman  named  Henley,  poor,  forsaken,  lying  on 
a  bed  of  torture  in  a  London  hospital.  He  said — 

"  'Out  of  the  night  that  covers  me, 

Black  as  the  pit  from  pole  to  pole, 
I  thank  whatever  gods  may  be 
For  my  unconquerable  soul. 

"  'In  the  fell  clutch  of  circumstance 

I  have  not  winced  nor  cried  aloud; 
Under  the  bludgeonings  of  chance 
My  head  is  bloody,  but  unbowed. 


'«  'I  am  the  master  of  my  fate; 

I  am  the  captain  of  my  soul.' 

194 


REVELATIONS 


"I  cannot  remember  the  rest,  but  his  courage 
calls  to  yours." 

"And  mine  shall  answer!"  he  said,  raising  his 
head.  "Besides,  any  night  is  not  black  from  pole 
to  pole,  for  she  came  like  a  star  climbing  a  storm- 
reached  sky.  I  did  not  realize  until  it  was  too 
late.  Alas!  the  folly  of  it!  She  is  so  sweet! 
like  a  lily  in  a  shady  place.  I  worship  her.  I 
hunger  for  her.  She  is  hidden  deep  in  the  very 
sanctuary  of  my  soul,  where  holy  things  are  cher 
ished.  Oh!  you  don't  know!  you  can't  know!  It 
is  a  blessing  and  a  grief.  It  is  a  solace  and  an 
added  torture.  I  can  only  leave  her.  She  must 
not  know,  and  I  am  no  longer  strong  enough  to 
hide  it." 

"Is  there  no  other  way  out  of  this  maze  of  mis 
fortune?"  I  asked. 

He  raised  haggard  eyes  to  mine. 

"I  can  see  none.  I  may  not  even  try  to  win 
her.  I  have  not  the  right." 

"But  time  passes,  and  conditions  alter,"  I  said 
hesitatingly. 

"Yes!  I  know  what  you  would  say,  Madame. 
But  one  cannot  build  hopes  of  happiness  on  the 
death  of  those  one  loves.  Besides,  my  father  is 

195 


The  HOUSE  of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

like  a  vigorous  oak,  virile  in  body  and  mind.  And 
she  is  so  young  and  so  lovely.  Other  men  can 
win  while  I  wait.  Ah !  that  is  the  temptation. 
The  thought  torments  me  night  and  day,  that  I 
might  betray  my  own  soul  and  claim  happiness. 
Perhaps  I  am  wrong  in  my  arrogance  of  right 
eousness,  and  it  is  all  vain  delusion  for  which  I 
sacrifice  every  joy.  I  am  torn  with  contention. 
My  brain  is  a  maelstrom  of  denials  and  ques 
tions." 

Feeling  like  a  modern  Eve  bidding  Adam  taste 
the  memorable  apple,  I  leaned  forward. 

"Why  not  give  up  the  struggle?"  I  asked. 
"Where  there  is  a  doubt,  take  the  natural  course. 
Your  father,  your  position,  have  their  claims." 

Monturbia  rose,  and  stood  before  me. 

"I  have  no  real  doubts.  Nothing  and  no  one 
could  dissuade  me :  not  even  Love.  Truth  has 
no  tricks;  neither  is  she  to  be  tricked.  If  I  go 
back,  it  would  be  with  a  clear  knowledge  of  my 
own  guilt,  and  that,  by  the  truth  which  shines 
clearly  in  my  soul,  I  will  not  do.  Better  die  fight 
ing  the  enemy  than  to  feast  in  his  camp." 

"Forgive  my  unworthy  thought,"  I  exclaimed 
with  contrition,  and  I  had  the  grace  to  blush  in  the 

196 


REVELATIONS 


darkness.  "You  are  right.  The  only  thing  to  do 
is  to  go  away.  No  good  comes  of  parleying. 
But  you  must  let  me  help  you.  I  have  influential 
friends.  My  cousin  is  interested  in  large  enter 
prises  over  here,  and  lives  in  Paris.  He  must  and 
shall  find  you  occupation.  And  then  we  will  see." 

He  took  both  my  hands  and  kissed  them. 

"If!  if  I  could  only  work,  Madame.  Work! 
how  gladly  I  would  do  my  best.  I  will  accept 

such  a  favor  with  all  my  gratitude.  How  can 
j " 

But  I  broke  in  on  his  thanks. 

"You  will  go  away  to-morrow,  early,  before 
anyone  is  up.  I  will  make  your  excuses.  It  will  be 
safer.  Luckily  my  friend  has  the  portrait  of 
your  head  sufficiently  completed.  Write  to  me, 
and  do  not  despair.  I  stand  your  friend.  I 
could  wish  no  better  thing  for  Lillian  than  to  be 
the  wife  of  the  man  you  have  proved  yourself  to 
be.  You  do  her  honor,  and  I  am  glad  to  have 
known  the  integrity  of  your  soul." 

I  gave  him  my  hand,  which  he  held  in  a  firm 
grip  for  a  long  moment,  looking  down  into  my 
eyes  with  his  lips  moving. 

"You — you —  '  he  said  brokenly.  "How  can 
14  197 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

I  thank  you?  You  have  shown  me  hope  where 
all  was  hopeless.  I  will  work.  I  feel  that  I  can 
move  mountains.  Guard  her,  cherish  her,  and 
may  Heaven  bless  you  both !" 

He  was  gone.  I  looked  up  at  the  stars  blinking 
through  interlacing  branches,  feeling  a  bit  dazed. 
What  a  gift  was  such  a  love:  a  treasure  beyond 
computing.  It  must  not,  it  should  not  be  wasted. 

Like  a  thief  in  the  night,  I  crept  into  the  house 
and  up  the  stairs  undiscovered.  It  \vas  nearly 
one;  a  most  improper  hour  for  a  well-brought-up 
young  woman  to  be  tete-a-tete  in  the  garden  with  a 
young  man.  I  tip-toed  to  Lillian's  door,  and,  find 
ing  it  ajar,  looked  in.  To  my  astonishment,  a 
quiet  voice  said: 

"Is  it  you?    Why  aren't  you  asleep?" 

I  went  in.  She  lay  among  her  pillows  tranquilly 
wide  awake,  her  long  golden  braids  across  her 
breast.  She  looked  a  pre-Raphaelite  saint  in  the 
pale  light  from  the  star-lit  space  of  the  open  win 
dows.  I  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  feeling 
like  a  conspirator.  Should  I  tell  her  now?  Be 
hind  the  gaze  of  those  wide,  blue  eyes,  what  lay 
unrevealed?  I  suddenly  became  conscious  of  the 
abyss  which  eternally  divides  human  beings  from 

198 


one  another.  This  young  girl,  so  intimately  asso 
ciated  with  my  daily  life — what  did  I  really  know 
of  her  inner  self,  the  ego  which  inhabited  her  fair 
body?  But  I  loved  her  dearly,  and  breathed  a 
prayer  of  thankfulness  that  this  "white  flower  of  a 
blameless  life"  was  as  yet  untouched  by  the  pas 
sion  which  had  wrought  such  havoc  with  the  man 
who  loved  her. 

She  should,  however,  be  told  of  his  departure. 
It  might  save  embarrassment  later.  So,  drawing 
one  of  her  hands  between  my  own,  I  said  casually: 

"By  the  way,  I  had  a  chat  with  the  Archangel, 
and  was  sorry  to  learn  that  he  has  suddenly  been 
called  away — some  business,  I  believe.  He  leaves 
early  in  the  morning,  and  left  his  good-byes  for 
me  to  give  by  proxy." 

She  lay  quite  still.  Perhaps  it  was  the  light, 
but  for  a  moment  her  pure  pallor  seemed  to 
blanch  to  the  whiteness  of  the  pillow.  Then  she 
gently  withdrew  her  hand.  Her  slender  fingers 
clasped  one  another  across  the  golden  braids. 

"And  he  is  not  coming  back?"  she  asked  at  last 
in  an  even  voice. 

"No,  I  believe  not.  At  least,  he  said  nothing 
about  it." 

199 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

The  room  was  very  still.  The  filmy  curtains 
swayed  inward,  allowing  the  starlight  to  glitter 
on  the  silver  toilette  accouterments  of  the  dress 
ing-table.  The  white  lids  fell  over  the  blue  eyes; 
then  they  suddenly  opened  wide,  and  fixed  me  with 
so  clear  a  gaze  that  my  guilty  soul  fled  to  cover. 

"Why  did  he  go?"  she  asked. 

"I  told  you,"  I  stammered,  with  a  strong  desire 
to  run  away. 

"Oh,  no !  You  made  his  excuses,  but  business 
was  not  the  reason.  Do  you  know  the  real 
reason?" 

I  sat  tongue-tied. 

"The  real  reason  is  because  he  loves  me,"  she 
said. 

"Loves  you!"  I  cried.     "How  do  you  know?" 

"I  know,  because  I  love  him,"  she  said  serenely. 

"Lillian!     What  do  you  mean?" 

"Just  what  I  say,  dear.  He  loves  me,  and  I 
have  loved  him  since  the  moment  I  looked  up  and 
saw  him  standing  on  the  threshold  the  night  he 
came." 

She  sat  upright,  throwing  her  long  braids  be 
hind  her,  and,  leaning  forward,  clasped  her 
knees. 

200 


REVELATIONS 


"Yes,  I  love  him !"  she  said,  looking  before  her, 
as  though  I  was  merely  a  shadow  in  the  room.  "I 
love  him  with  all  my  heart  and  soul.  He  is  my 
world,  my  life.  I  am  alive  at  last,  and  it  is 
glorious." 

She  turned  her  shining  eyes  upon  me,  where  I 
sat,  too  dumfounded  to  speak.  And  this  was  my 
fledgling,  my  flower  untouched  by  human  passion! 
Her  face  fairly  illumined  the  darkened  room, 
transfigured,  glorified.  Dante's  words,  on  glimps 
ing  Paradise,  came  to  my  mind: 

"  I  saw  a  point,  whence  flashed  so  sharp  a  light, 

That  he  on  whom  its  burning  glow  was  turned, 
To  shun  its  splendor,  needs  must  close  his  sight." 

Taking  her  in  my  arms,  I  hid  that  shining  face 
against  my  breast,  and  so  we  remained  for  a  long 
moment.  At  last  she  disengaged  herself. 

"And  you  are  wondering  why  I  don't  cry  aloud 
because  he  is  gone.  In  going,  he  tells  me  that  he 
loves  me.  Now  I  know,  and  am  content." 

"But,  my  darling  girl,  you  know  nothing  of 
him." 

"I  know  the  man.     It  is  enough." 

"He  is  poor." 

2OI 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

"He  has  made  me  rich  in  happiness." 

"His  training  is  diametrically  opposed  to  all 
your  traditions  and  education." 

"His  tolerance  has  taught  me  charity.  His 
knowledge  shames  my  ignorance." 

"You  may  never  be  anything  to  one  an 
other." 

"We  are  everything  to  one  another,  though  we 
never  meet  again." 

"How  can  you  trust  him  when  he  has  never 
told  you?" 

"Love  is  faith,  and  faith  is  belief  in  things  un 
seen." 

"It  may  ruin  your  life,  this  vision  which  has 
no  surety." 

"He  has  taught  me  to  live,  and  it  is  the  one 
reality  among  fleeting  shadows." 

I  was  dumb,  and  could  only  gaze  at  her  illu 
mined  face  in  veneration  of  such  pure  love.  So 
must  the  gods  have  loved  before  they  descended 
from  Olympus.  I  held  her  close.  "Oh,  my  dear 
— my  dear!"  I  breathed  against  her  hair.  My 
worldly  knowledge  stood  abashed  before  such  wis 
dom  of  love. 

She  took  my  face  between  her  two  hands. 
202 


REVELATIONS 


"Do  you  know  that,  did  he  but  hold  out  his 
hand  and  bid  me  come,  nothing  could  stop 
my  flying  feet?  I  would  go  out  into  the  wide 
world,  happy  and  proud  to  work  humbly  by  his 
side.  Poverty  and  isolation  from  all  I  once  held 
necessary  would  count  as  nothing  beside  the  honor 
of  sharing  his  hardships.  My  old  life,  with  its 
petty  egotisms,  seems  like  a  cocoon  from  which  I 
am  delivered.  He  has  shown  me  a  world  bounded 
by  no  horizon;  where  material  things  count  as 
dross  beside  ideals.  He  has  opened  my  heart, 
yes;  but  he  has  also  opened  the  door  of  my  soul, 
and  shown  me  holy  mysteries  there.  He  has 
taught  me  that  each  of  our  bodies  is  a  shrine,  en 
closing  Divinity,  and  the  dignity  of  such  a  heri 
tage.  Whether  with  him  or  forever  apart,  I  carry 
his  message,  here,  in  my  heart,  and  nothing  can 
ever  make  me  forget." 

She  fell  back  among  her  pillows,  her  face  in 
shadow.  What  remained  for  me  to  say?  Noth 
ing.  As  once  before,  I  realized  that  I  had  been 
cheated  of  Life's  meaning,  shut  out  from  a 
woman's  rightful  heritage;  and  I  envied  her  with 
pain  and  bitterness.  She  fondled  my  hand  as  I 
leaned  to  kiss  her  good-night. 

203 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

"  Don't  fancy  me  unhappy,"  she  said  smiling. 
"It  will  only  be  an  outward  loneliness.  The  real 
Lillian  can  never  be  lonely  again." 

Once  more  in  my  room,  I  knelt  by  the  window, 
humbled  and  ashamed.  How  little  had  I  known 
this  young  girl.  With  all  my  tenderness  for  her 
and  perspicacity,  how  little  had  I  divined  beneath 
the  superficial  frankness  of  our  daily  life  together! 
Were  we  all  such  unknown  quantities  to  one  an 
other?  Was  the  hunger  of  my  own  heart  a  secret, 
too,  never  to  be  shared,  perhaps?  How  perfectly 
had  she  learned  the  art  of  giving!  Without  a 
thought  of  self,  without  a  backward  glance  or 
reservation,  she  poured  the  full  richness  of  her 
young  life  into  a  stranger's  keeping.  No  weigh 
ing  there;  no  question  of  expediency.  In  igno 
rance  she  had  given  all.  Where  I  had  groped,  she 
had  seen  unerringly.  It  was  a  great  temptation 
to  tell  all  I  knew,  but  my  promise  held  me.  Per 
haps  some  day,  when  she  bore  his  great  name,  and 
together  they  had  the  power  to  stoop  from  their 
pinnacle  of  worldly  honors  to  help  those  below 
them,  what  joy  to  know  that  only  Love  had 
counted. 

What  a  radiant  life  would  be  theirs!  What  a 
204 


REVELATIONS 


lovely  Princess  would  he  take  to  his  grim  old 
Roman  palace!  It  must,  it  should  be!  I 
would  not  rest  until  this  idyl  became  realized.  If 
happiness  was  to  pass  me  by,  at  least  I  could  help 
insure  it  for  others. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    MAYORESS'S    INVASION 

THE  next  day  at  dawn  the  soldiers  marched 
away  to  martial  music,  leaving  behind 
them  warm  thanks,  a  depleted  garden, 
and  household  confusion.  Margaret  was  discon 
solate  at  the  sudden  departure  of  her  Archangel, 
but  consoled  herself  with  the  fact  that  the  beauti 
ful  head  on  canvas  was  nearly  completed.  Lord 
Ashburne  received  the  news  in  ominous  silence, 
and  announced  his  own  departure  by  that  even 
ing's  train.  This  information  his  hostess  received 
with  equanimity,  saying  that,  as  he  had  appeared 
to  have  acquired  the  habit  of  returning,  she 
would  refrain  from  dust  and  ashes  for  the  pres 
ent. 

That  afternoon,  as  we  were  sitting  about  the 
tea-wagon  in  the  Linden  Walk,  Alwyn  appeared, 
walking  blindly  toward  me,  blowing  on  a  pin- 
wheel,  which  refused  to  rotate. 

"You've  bent  the  pin  too  short,"  I  said,  and 
206 


The    MAYORESS'S    INVASION 

proceeded  to  take  it  apart  while  the  others 
watched.  The  bit  of  paper  lay  in  my  hand.  It 
was  covered  with  writing — verses,  evidently  hot 
off  the  griddle  of  the  muse,  as  words  had  been 
erased  here  and  there. 

"What  have  we  here?"  I  cried.  "Poetry! 
Shall  I  read?" 

Ashburne  leaned  forward,  and  tried  to  take  it 
from  me,  but  I  held  it  aloft. 

"How  rude  of  you,"  he  said.  "I  had  just 
gotten  to  the  best  part  of  my  story,  and  insist  on 
being  heard." 

"Never  mind  his  story,"  said  Margaret.  "I've 
heard  it  before.  On  with  the  poetry.  Is  it 
French?" 

Ashburne  moved  to  rise,  but  Margaret  laid  a 
detaining  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Don't  be  a  spoiled  child,  Bud.  Now!  we're 
waiting." 

I  smoothed  out  the  paper  and  read: 
' 'Love's  Seasons.'     Ahem!    Sentimental! 

"  'When  on  my  Love's  white  brow  dark  frowns  appear, 
'Tis  Winter  in  my  heart,  and  skies  are  drear. 
Shadows  fall  gray  between  all  joy  and  me, 
And  Cupid  hies  away  most  dolorously.'  " 

207 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

"One  foot  too  many  in  that  last  line,"  said 
Margaret. 

"Don't  trip  me  up  with  it,  if  there  is,"  said  I, 
and  continued: 

"  •  But  when  amid  the  violets  of  her  eyes 
A  smile  is  born  of  tears,  all  dolor  flies, 
It's  sunshine  in  my  heart  makes  blithesome  Spring. 
Cupid  a  pasan  of  joy  doth  gayly  sing. 

"  '  The  peace  and  beauty  of  full  Summertide 
Among  the  roses  of  her  lips  abide. 
There  tenderness  and  gentle  favors  dwell 
Wrapped  in  soft  petals,  which  I  love  full  well. 

"  'Rich  Autumn's  bounty  glows  amid  her  hair. 
Her  heart  a  vintage  is  of  Love  so  rare, 
To  taste  its  sweetness  is  to  drink  again, 
That  heart  and  soul  their  rapture  may  retain. 

"  'But  Winter's  snows  and  Spring's  most  fickle  smile 
My  worship  from  her  shrine  can  ne'er  beguile. 
I  lay  Life's  Summer  roses  at  her  feet, 
And  garner  in  Love's  harvest,  e'er  to  keep.'  ' 

"Bravo!"  cried  Lillian. 

"  'Feet'  and  'keep'  don't  rhyme,"  said  Mar 
garet. 

"Alwyn,"  I  asked,  "where  did  you  get  this?" 
208 


The    MAYORESS'S    INVASION 

"It  isn't  out  of  anything !"  he  replied.  "I  found 
it  under  Bud's  window  on  the  box-hedge.  It  must 
have  blown  out." 

"Why,  Bud!"  ejaculated  Margaret.  "And  it's 
in  your  writing!  What  on  earth- 
He  waved  a  negation  with  his  hand. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  he  said  airily.  "Some  old  un 
finished  stuff " 

"It  can't  be  old,"  corrected  Alwyn.  "It's  on 
our  chateau  paper.  And  who  is  your  Love?  I 
thought  you  only  had  our  Margaret,  but  her  eyes 
aren't  violet.  Now,  Dear's  eyes " 

He  peered  into  my  crimson  face. 

"Yes,  they  are!"  he  cried  triumphantly.  "But 
she  isn't  your  Love,  either,  beause  I  heard  her 
tell  Cousin  Lillian  that  your  Love  lived  in  a  castle 
in  Spain." 

"And  what  else  did  she  say,  old  chap?"  asked 
Ashburne,  plainly  delighted  to  shift  embarrass 
ment  to  my  shoulders. 

I  gave  my  son  a  suggestive  prod. 

"It's  supper— 

But  he  ignored  me. 

"She  said  something  about  your  being  backward 
in  going  forward,  and  Cousin  Lillian  said  she 

209 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

didn't  understand  why  Margaret  hadn't  snapped 
you  up  long  ago." 

"Quite  right,  my  boy.  Lack  of  taste  on  her 
part,  I  call  it." 

Alwyn  turned  to  Margaret. 

"Why  didn't  you  snap  him  up?"  he  asked  affec 
tionately. 

"I'll  tell  you  why,"  Ashburne  cut  in.  "You 
know  she  can't  have  but  one  husband  at  a  time, 
and  she  told  me  she  was  married  already." 

Alwyn  opened  round  eyes. 

"She  married!    Who  to?" 

"She  told  me,"  said  Ashburne,  "that  she  was 
wedded  to  Art.  So  what  could  I  do,  but  just  turn 
into  a  friend?" 

"Your  imagination  does  you  credit,"  said  Mar 
garet,  with  a  wrathful  eye  on  my  son.  "You 
were  never  anything  else  but  my  friend." 

"I  was "  protested  Ashburne. 

"You  didn't  know  the  difference,"  shj  replied. 

"Oh!  don't  I?"  he  retorted. 

Margaret  smiled  significantly. 

"Then  you've  learned  something  since." 

I  laid  a  firm  grasp  on  Alwyn,  and  rose. 

"Personalities  are  in  bad  taste,"  said  I  over  my 

2IO 


The    MAYORESS'S    INVASION 

shoulder,  as  I  moved  away,  "and  a  bad  example 
to  the  young." 

After  Alwyn  was  safely  occupied  with  his  sup 
per,  there  still  remained  time  for  a  stroll  in  the 
forest.  I  had  reached  the  moat  when  I  heard  the 
paddling  of  feet  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall. 
Then  a  rush  and  scramble,  and  Ashburne  landed 
on  the  dead  leaves  before  me. 

"I'm  coming,"  said  he. 

"You  appear  to  have  done  so,"  said  I. 

"As  I  am  going  away,  you  might  be  a  bit  more 
appreciative  of  my  efforts  to  enjoy  your  society," 
said  he. 

"Your  efforts  were  worthy  of  a  better  cause," 
I  replied. 

"You  might  at  least  make  believe  you  are 
sorry,"  he  said,  swinging  his  stick  viciously  among 
the  bracken,  as  we  walked  along. 

"You  once  told  me  I  should  show  truly  what  I 
felt,  and  that  make-believe  was  a  contemptible, 
feminine  attribute." 

"Do  you  also  remember  other  things  I  said?" 
he  asked,  bending  to  look  beneath  my  hat-brim. 

"A  long  memory  is  an  inconvenience,"  I  said. 
"It  harbors  inconsistencies." 

211 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

Silence  fell  between  us.  The  beauty  of  a  dying 
world  lay  hushed  about  us.  It  was  early  October, 
and  already  emerald  was  turning  to  mellow  tints 
of  brown  and  orange.  Wider  spaces  showed  be 
tween  thinning  branches.  The  peace  of  coming 
Death  brooded  in  the  still  air,  through  which 
leaves  drifted  as  though  tired  from  their  summer's 
frolic.  Autumn  mists  blurred  mysterious  dis 
tances,  through  which  golden  shafts  of  light 
pierced,  effulgent,  palpitating. 

Pacing  along,  each  busy  with  thoughts,  we 
reached  the  pine  knoll.  The  eternal  song  whis 
pered  high  above  our  heads.  A  hawk  swung 
against  the  sky  on  motionless  wings.  The  sun  lay 
warm  about  us,  bringing  out  a  thousand  scents, 
resinous  and  pungent.  I  curled  up  in  my  favorite 
hollow,  while  Ashburne  stretched  himself  on  the 
pine  needles.  I  felt  tired;  too  tired  to  quibble  and 
play  with  words.  Life  at  the  moment  seemed  dif 
ficult;  a  twisted  thing  of  threads  snarled  as  though 
by  a  malicious  destiny. 

"Well,"  said  my  companion,  with  eyes  fixed  on 
the  top  of  a  swaying  pine.  "Have  you  nothing 
to  tell  me?" 

"No!"  said  I. 

212 


The    MAYORESS'S    INVASION 

"Monturbia  made  you  promise  not  to  tell?" 

Silence. 

"How  much  do  you  know?"  he  asked,  with  a 
shrewd  glance  at  my  averted  face. 

"How  much  do  you  know?"  I  asked. 

"Everything,  but  the  latest  edition,  for  I  did 
not  see  him  after  he  decided  to  go.  But  with  my 
knowledge  of  him,  and  my  knowledge  of  feminine 
wiles,  I  am  sure  he  told  you  everything  before  he 
went." 

"Yes,  he  told  me." 

"Everything?" 

"Yes,  everything." 

"And  she ?" 

"I  never  knew  such  joy." 

He  sighed. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so.  They  are  both  that  kind. 
One  envies  them  their  whole-hearted  spontaneity 
of  youth.  But  what  is  to  be  done?" 

"He  has  gone  to  my  cousin,  who  is  a  financial 
power,  and  to  whom  I  have  just  mailed  ten  pages 
of  supplication  and  command  to  give  Monturbia 
occupation." 

"Then  you  believe  in  my  friend?" 

"With  all  my  heart,  and  in  his  future,  also." 
15  213 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

"Thank  you,  Madame.  But  does  she  care  for 
him?  If  so,  it  is  awkward." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  I  somewhat  tartly.  "I  see 
nothing  in  the  least  awkward." 

My  companion  tossed  into  the  air  his  handful 
of  pine  needles,  and  regarded  me  with  smiling 
astonishment. 

"That  from  you,  O  worldly  one!  Verily  if 
love  at  second  hand  can  accomplish  such  wonders 
with  your  skepticism,  at  first  hand  what  wonders 
might  not  transpire?" 

There  seemed  nothing  to  be  said  to  this,  so  I 
remained  silent.  Ashburne  followed  the  erratic 
course  of  an  ant,  with  absent  eye. 

"You  then  believe  that,  after  all,  perfect  love 
casteth  out  fear?"  he  said  impersonally. 

"Yes,  but  when  does  one  find  perfect 
love?" 

"You  and  I  know  of  two  hearts  which  under 
stand  it.  There  may  be  others.  One  often  over 
looks  what  is  near  at  hand,  in  searching  for  un 
certainties." 

"But  one  must  be  cautious,"  I  replied,  "and 
not  mistake  pinchbeck  for  pure  gold.  One  meets 
such  good  imitations  of  the  article." 

214 


The    MAYORESS'S    INVASION 

"I  thought  women  held  a  divining  rod  regard 
ing  such  things." 

"Dear  me,  no!  A  woman  is  often  led  to  be 
lieve,  because  she  wishes  to  do  so.  The  feminine 
heart  is  prone  to  deceive  itself." 

"Then  to  beget  belief  in  the  sincerity  of  his  love, 
a  man  must  first  artfully  convince  a  woman  that 
she  needs  to  love  and  be  loved?" 

Was  there  a  note  of  satirical  contempt  in  his 
voice?  His  gray  eyes  held  mine,  as  though  com 
pelling  sincerity. 

"Out  upon  such  subtleties,  dear  Madame.  One 
cannot  quibble  with  love  any  more  than  one  plays 
ball  with  a  star.  Being  a  mere  man,  I  believe  in 
more  direct  methods:  in  loving  straight  from  the 
heart,  as  one  fights,  straight  from  the  shoulder. 
To  love,  to  work,  to  forgive  an  enemy,  to  hate 
what  is  ignoble ;  these  must  be  done  with  the  whole 
heart  and  undivided  will,  or  not  at  all.  Pettiness 
is  never  worth  while.  You  know  that  you  really 
agree  with  me.  Tell  me,  why  do  you  fence?  Will 
you  never  drop  your  guard?" 

"I  am  not "  I  began,  feeling  that  unknown 

issues  were  hurrying  to  a  solution  too  rapidly. 
Caution  bade  me  go  warily. 

215 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

He  sat  up,  and,  leaning  forward,  laid  one 
brown  hand  on  the  edge  of  my  dress. 

"You  are  fencing.  You  always  do.  You  evade. 
Why?  Of  what  are  you  afraid?  Tell  me." 

I  sat  dumb,  with  lowered  lids.  What  was  this 
tumult  of  rising  joy  and  hope  in  my  heart — this 
breaking  down  of  barriers  within,  which  years  of 
worldly  training  had  raised  between  me  and  faith? 
I  glanced  at  the  strong  hand  on  the  edge  of  my 
dress.  Its  touch  seemed  to  pervade;  to  promise 
strength  to  my  weakness,  and  a  thousand  unim- 
agined  joys. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said  softly,  "or  shall  I  tell  you?" 

"No!  no!"  I  cried,  evading  the  issue.  "Why 
analyze  and  explain?  One  cannot  dissect  such 
things.  They  belong  to  one's  subliminal  conscious 
ness,  which  has  the  reticence  of  the  unknown 
quantity." 

"You  run  away  from  the  issue.  You  are  afraid." 

There  was  contempt  in  his  voice.  It  lashed  my 
pride.  No  doubt  my  feminine  tactics  were  con 
temptible.  Could  I  not  meet  honesty  with  truth; 
return  confidence,  where  so  freely  given?  Oh !  to 
be  free !  To  dare  to  stand  erect,  to  the  full  stat 
ure  of  one's  nature,  unhampered  by  caution  and 

216 


The    MAYORESS'S    INVASION 

expediency.  I  suddenly  longed  to  come  out  into 
the  open,  unafraid:  to  unleash  primal  instincts. 

"Forgive  me !"  I  cried  impulsively.  "You  com 
pel  my  honesty.  Yes!  I  am  a  coward;  the  world 
has  taught  me  fear.  I  am  afraid,  but  not  so 
much  of  others  as  of  myself — my  own  capacities. 
I  fear  disillusion;  kindling  a  flame  which  might 
consume — of  exchanging  placid  content  for  joy 
which  might  end  in  pain.  I  have  more  to  give 
than  others,  never  having  given  lightly.  To  give 
one's  all,  forever,  and  to  find  it  tossed  aside — to 
empty  one's  heart  and  not  to  find  it  filled— 

His  hand  closed  over  mine.     I  felt  it  tremble. 

"Dear "  he  began,  and  stopped.  He  looked 

down  at  my  hand  in  silence  for  a  moment,  and 
then  gently  laid  it  back  on  my  knee. 

"And  so  you  do  not  believe,"  he  said.  "What 
am  I  to  say?  Do  words  prove  anything?  Are 
they  not  in  the  mouths  of  liars,  as  well  as  in  those 
of  honest  men?  I  would  not  stoop  to  argue.  I 
love  you.  In  those  three  words  the  whole  matter 
lies.  Had  I  the  eloquence  of  Demosthenes,  I 
could  say  no  more.  And  you  fear  that,  if  you 
blessed  me  in  loving  me,  you  might  one  day 
regret  the  gift;  that  I  might  cease  to  cherish  it. 

217 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

Have  I  learned  so  little  in  this  empty  and  lonely 
world?  Alas!  in  so  doubting,  you  prove  your  lack 
of  understanding.  The  world  has,  indeed,  blurred 
your  vision,  when  you  cannot  see  my  heart  on  its 
knees  before  you,  pleading,  undone,  so  wholly 
yours  that  it  can  never  be  mine  again." 

What  was  it  that  held  me  tongue-tied?  I  shall 
never  know.  Was  it  the  paean  of  joy,  singing 
within,  to  which  my  ravished  ears  listened?  Or 
was  it  doubt  still  holding  back  the  key  to  my  heart  ? 
Fenelon's  prayer  came  to  my  mind:  "O  God,  take 
my  heart,  for  I  cannot  give  it  to  Thee.  Keep  it, 
for  I  cannot  keep  it  for  Thee.  Save  me,  in  spite 
of  myself."  Had  he,  too,  longed  for  self-aban 
donment?  With  words  mounting,  stumbling  to 
my  lips,  with  the  last  barrier  crumbling  to  its  fall, 
the  moment  passed. 

A  shadow  fell  between  us,  blotting  out  the  glory 
of  the  setting  sun.  I  looked  up.  The  Mayor's 
wife  stood  before  us! 

My  companion  sprang  to  his  feet,  with  some 
thing  which  sounded  shockingly  like  a  naughty 
word.  I,  too,  scrambled  erect,  feeling  every  soft 
sentiment  fly  shuddering  from  my  breast.  There 
she  was !  a  most  unwelcome  fact  of  two  hundred 

218 


The    MAYORESS'S    INVASION 

solid  pounds,  black  as  to  raiment,  but  blacker  still 
as  to  expression  of  countenance. 

"To  what  are  we  indebted  for  this  pleasure?" 
asked  Ashburne,  with  stony  sarcasm. 

She  ignored  him. 

"I  am  come,  Madame,  to  discuss  a  matter  of 
extreme  importance,  which  admits  of  no  delay. 
They  told  me  at  the  house  that  you  were  out,  but 
I  persuaded  your  gardener's  son  to  show  me  the 
way." 

"Whatever  it  is,"  I  replied,  "it  can  wait  until 
we  return  to  the  house,  where  we  can  at  least  find 
something  to  sit  upon." 

With  small  effort  at  concealing  my  wrath,  I  led 
the  way  down  the  slippery  incline  to  the  path. 
Ashburne  brought  up  the  rear,  while  our  unwel 
come  visitor  puffed  and  blew,  as  I  sped  maliciously 
along  at  a  speed  which  ill  suited  her  elephantine 
footsteps.  If  she  had  fallen  in  a  fit  en  route,  I 
doubt  if  either  of  us  would  have  offered  a  suc 
coring  hand. 

Not  a  word  was  said.  As  my  wrath  cooled,  I 
began  to  wonder  what  might  be  in  store  for  us.  It 
was  not  difficult  to  surmise  that  Henriette  might 
be  the  cause  of  this  abominable  invasion,  and  so  it 

219 


The  HOUSE  of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

proved.  As  we  emerged  upon  the  lawn,  our  visi 
tor  said,  between  gasping  breaths: 

"Will  you  kindly  send  for  your  maid,  as  what 
I  have  to  say  should  be  said  in  her  presence?" 

We  went  to  the  library,  where  Ashburne,  hav 
ing  offered  the  frailest  and  least  comfortable  chair 
to  our  guest,  muttered  an  excuse,  and  departed.  I 
rang  the  bell,  and  Henriette  appeared.  She  car 
ried  a  pair  of  curling-tongs  in  one  hand,  and  from 
her  diminutive  apron  pocket  there  floated  a  yard 
of  pink  lingerie  ribbon.  Her  pretty  face  hardened 
on  recognizing  our  visitor,  and,  I  regret  to  say, 
she  gave  her  a  saucy  stare  of  defiance  as  she  stood 
respectfully  awaiting  my  orders.  There  was  a 
moment's  silence;  then,  as  the  Mayoress  seemed 
at  a  loss,  I  said: 

"Madame  wishes  to  speak  to  you  about  some 
thing,  Henriette,  and  asked  me  to  send  for  you." 

The  Mayoress  awoke  from  her  torpor,  and,  fix 
ing  her  beady  orbs  on  my  maid,  demanded: 

"Is  it  true  that  my  son  Jean  has  asked  you  to 
marry  him,  and  that  you  have  accepted  him?" 

Henriette  bobbed  a  courtesy. 

"No,  Madame.  There  isn't  a  word  of  truth 
in  it." 

220 


V<    .A 


"  'It  is  not  true,  because  it  was  I  who  proposed  to  Jean'." 

"What  do  you  mean  !"  exclaimed  the  Mayoress, 
with  fallen  jaw.  "My  son  has  just  told  me  so." 

"Madame  is  mistaken." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  and  my  son 
are  not  engaged?" 

"Not  at  all.     We  are." 

"Then  in  the  name  of  the  holy  saints,  what  do 
you  mean?" 

"Did  not  Madame  ask  me  whether  it  was  true 
221 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

that  her  son  had  asked  me  to  marry  him,  and  I 
accepted  him?" 

"Those  were  my  words." 

"Madame  will  pardon  my  correcting  her.  It  is 
not  true,  because  it  was  I  who  proposed  to  Jean, 
and  he  who  accepted  me!" 

The  Mayoress  stared  at  the  small  figure  before 
her  with  bulging  eyes. 

"How  dare  you  tell  me  such  a  thing?"  she 
finally  gasped. 

Henriette  opened  wide  blue  eyes. 

"Dare?     I  do  not  understand." 

Her  cheerful  serenity  acted  like  the  flick  of  a 
whip  on  the  Mayoress.  Her  face  grew  gray.  Her 
eyes  narrowed  to  pin-points  of  malevolence. 

"Do  you  suppose  for  a  moment  that  I  shall 
allow  my  son  to  marry  a  servant,  a  girl  of  no 
parentage,  a  penniless  nobody,  a  worthless — 

This  was  too  much  for  me,  and  I  raised  my 
voice. 

"This  girl  is  in  my  employ,  Madame,  which 
vouches  for  her  entire  respectability  and  efficiency. 
You  asked  to  see  me,  but  I  must  decline  to  listen 
to  this  sort  of  thing.  You  will  excuse  me." 

Out  in  the  court  was  heard  the  motor's  pant- 
222 


The    MAYORESS'S    INVASION 

ing,  as  it  stopped  before  the  door.  There  were 
hurrying  feet  within  the  house.  Ashburne  was 
leaving.  What  perverse  Fate  had  arranged  this 
situation?  Were  we  to  part  with  so  much  unsaid? 
Not  even  good-bye !  How  was  he  to  guess  at 
what  had  been  trembling  on  my  lips — at  barriers 
broken  down  at  last?  I  heard  a  firm  tread  on  the 
marble  pavement  of  the  hall,  and  Margaret's  kind 
voice  urging  him  to  hasten,  or  he  would  miss  the 
train.  I  rose. 

The  voices  in  the  room  had  become  echoes  to 
my  beating  heart.  He  stood  in  the  doorway,  hat 
in  hand.  Beyond  were  the  others,  tactfully  en 
gaged  with  one  another  and  the  luggage.  His 
face  was  quite  impassive  as  he  took  my  cold  hand 
into  his  warm  clasp.  His  eyes,  holding  mine,  held 
a  message  I  could  not  fathom. 

"Good-bye,"  he  said  pleasantly.  "May  peace 
be  with  you  and  with  this  house,  and  may  no  more 
adventures  disturb  your  tranquillity." 

I  smiled  bravely,  not  to  be  out-done  in  self- 
possession,  but  with  a  wild  desire  to  know  what 
message  his  eyes  struggled  to  give,  as  they  held 
mine.  Was  it  indeed  "Good-bye"?  Had  he  not 
seen?  Could  he  not  guess?  The  friendly  chatter 

223 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

and  laughter  about  us,  with  its  background  of 
acrid  voices  from  the  room  behind  me,  divided 
us  as  completely  from  each  other  as  China's 
wall. 

"Bon  voyage,"  I  said,  leaving  my  hand  in  his 
for  a  moment.  "You  have  been  our  mascot,  and 
we  hope  you  will  not  lose  your  habit  of  returning." 

He  hesitated,  as  though  on  the  point  of  saying 
something,  but,  evidently  thinking  better  of  it, 
turned  away,  and,  with  a  final  good-bye,  the  motor 
chortled  out  of  the  court,  he  waving  his  hat  till  it 
had  spun  out  from  the  arch  into  the  street  beyond. 

"Oh,  dear,"  wailed  Margaret,  "I'm  afraid  he 
has  gone  for  good  this  time,  for  he  made  no  more 
excuses  for  coming  back.  I  hope  no  one  has  dared 
to  treat  him  badly." 

She  looked  suspiciously  at  me.  I  felt  myself 
redden.  With  what  I  fondly  hoped  was  an  airy 
laugh,  I  fled  back  to  the  library,  where  the  battle 
still  raged.  Henriette  cast  me  a  grateful  glance 
as  I  sat  down  with  disgusted  reluctance.  My  head 
was  in  a  whirl;  my  heart  like  lead.  It  appeared 
that  I  was  better  able  to  manage  other  people's 
affairs  than  my  own. 

There  was  a  pause  in  hostilities,  while  they 
224 


The    MAYORESS'S    INVASION 

eyed  each  other  like  a  pair  of  pugilists  waiting 
for  "time"  to  be  called. 

"Now,  Madame!"  said  Henriette,  with  an  air 
of  readiness  for  the  second  round. 

"Do  you  know  that  my  son  shall  not  have  a 
penny,  if  he  marries  without  my  consent?" 

"Oh!  yes,  Madame.  Jean  said  you  were  like 
that." 

"Like  what?" 

"Like  that.  Loving  money  more  than  happi 
ness — not  meaning  to  be  disrespectful,  Madame." 

"And  yet,  you  no  doubt  expect  that  I  shall 
change  my  mind  and  consent  to  this  abominable 
union." 

"Not  at  all,  Madame.  That  is  why  I  proposed 
to  Jean.  I  couldn't  get  him  to  do  it,  though  I  did 
try  in  every  way.  He  said  that,  being  a  hunch 
back  and  poor,  he  wasn't  good  enough  for  me." 

This  view  of  the  case  evidently  staggered  the 
future  mother-in-law. 

"Not  good  enough!"  she  exclaimed,  her  face 
purple  with  amazement.  "Not  good  enough — 
you !" 

"That  was  what  he  said,  Madame,  but  of  course 
I  didn't  agree  with  him  any  more  than  you  do." 

225 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

"And  what  do  you  two  precious  doves  expect 
to  live  on?" 

"Plain  but  nourishing  food,  Madame." 

The  Mayoress  snorted. 

"Who  is  to  pay  for  it?" 

"Oh,  we'll  chip  in,"  said  Henriette  airily.  "I 
can  support  myself,  and  have  a  snug  sum  laid  by. 
He  can  earn,  too,  carving  ivories.  Even  if  he 
couldn't,  I  don't  in  the  least  mind  supporting  your 
son  if  his  family  can't  manage  it." 

"You  then  mean  to  defy  me?" 

"I  mean  to  marry  Jean  and  to  make  him  happy. 
He  never  has  been." 

Her  lip  quivered.  A  steely  light  sprang  into 
her  eyes. 

"Yes  !"  she  said.  "I'm  going  to  give  him  every 
thing  you  should  have  given,  and  never  did." 

"I'm  not  here  to  listen  to  your  future  plans," 
broke  in  the  Mayoress.  "I'm  here  to  tell  you  that, 
if  you  persist  in  your  brazen  impudence  and  marry 
my  son  against  my  wishes,  he  ceases  to  be  any 
son  of  mine.  If  you  wish  to  impoverish  him  and 
cut  him  off  from  his  family  and  home,  the  sin  be 
on  your  own  head!" 

Then  Henriette's  gay  serenity  left  her.  In  an 
226 


The    MAYORESS'S    INVASION 

instant  she  was  transformed  into  a  small  white 
fury.  She  went  close  to  the  Mayoress. 

"You!  you!  to  talk  of  his  home!  He  never 
had  one,  nor  a  mother,  either.  I'll  tell  you  what 
he  has  had:  a  lonely,  unloved  existence.  Never 
tenderness  or  pity,  nor  sympathy  for  his  misfor 
tune.  All  the  world  knows  that  your  husband 
and  son  detest  you  as  the  devil  hates  holy  water. 
You  never  knew  how  to  hold  your  husband.  He 
runs  from  you  to  other  women,  and  small  blame 
to  him.  No  man  likes  to  live  with  the  Ten  Com 
mandments  dressed  up  in  black  bombazine." 

She  raised  the  curling  tongs  and  flourished  them 
within  an  inch  of  the  Roman  nose  above  her. 

"It  is  this,  and  this,"  waving  the  pink  lingerie 
ribbon  before  the  empurpled  countenance,  "which 
hold  a  man:  not  virtue  and  alpaca  petticoats.  If 
you,  Madame,  had  kept  your  waist,  powdered  your 
nose,  and  learned  how  to  laugh,  your  husband 
wouldn't  be  running  to  Paris  to  find  those  who  do. 
As  for  Jean,  he  shall  know  the  value  of  such 
things.  If  the  good  God  does  me  the  honor  to 
make  me  his  wife,  I'll  see  to  it  that  his  eye  is  filled 
as  well  as  his  stomach.  I'll  make  up  to  him  for 
the  sawdust  you  gave  him  instead  of  human  joy. 

227 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

You  may  turn  him  out  as  much  as  you  like.  I 
wager  it  won't  be  his  mother  he'll  be  crying  for 
nights.  Et  I'oila!" 

She  stopped  from  sheer  lack  of  breath.  Of 
course  it  was  shocking,  but  for  the  life  of  me  I 
could  not  repress  a  desire  to  give  three  cheers. 
The  Mayoress  stalked  to  the  door,  and  paused  on 
the  threshold,  with  black-gloved  hands  uplifted. 

"The  devil  looks  after  his  own,  so  I  can  wash 
my  hands  of  the  matter.  You  will  rue  this  day. 
May  your  bread  be  ashes  and  your  wine  vinegar. 
1  hope  never  to  see  your  face  again." 

"Give  Jean  all  my  love,"  was  Henriette's  part 
ing  shot. 

"Well,  my  girl,"  I  said,  "I  fear  you  have  been 
indiscreet." 

She  stood  staring  at  me,  while  the  light  of  battle 
faded  from  her  eyes.  Her  lip  trembled,  then  she 
threw  herself  down  at  my  knees,  wringing  her 
hands  and  shaking  with  sobs. 

I  patted  her  soothingly,  while  my  thoughts  flew. 
Poor  child !  What  a  loyal  heart  beat  beneath  the 
smart  little  bodice! 

"What  shall  I  do?"  she  wailed,  lifting  tear-wet 
eyes. 

228 


The    MAYORESS'S    INVASION 

"Elope!"  said  I. 

"Madame!" 

Hope  dawned  in  her  face.  Her  saturated 
pocket-handkerchief  disappeared  into  her  apron 
pocket. 

"Yes,  elope,"  I  said  with  conviction.  "It  is  the 
solution.  I  don't  know  the  law's  requirements, 
but  I'll  stand  by,  and  we'll  manage  it.  But  re 
member,  Henriette — it  is  a  profound  secret. 
Don't  you  breathe  it  to  a  living  soul  but 
Jean."  " 

"May  all  the  saints  bless  you,  Madame.  As  for 
the  law,  Jean  told  me.  We  are  both  of  age,  and 
can  do  as  we  please,  publishing  the  banns  in  Paris, 
where  no  one  knows  us." 

"And  then  you  can  both  come  back  here  and 
live  in  those  empty  rooms  over  the  arch,  till  we 
can  turn  round  and  arrange  matters.  You  can 
open  a  little  shop  in  Paris.  You  can  make  ravish 
ing  blouses,  and  Jean  can  sell  his  ivories.  I'll  see 
that  my  friends  buy  both.  The  man  who  sold  me 
that  antique  furniture  at  ruinous  prices  sells  such 
things.  I'll  give  him  to  understand  that  if  he 
doesn't  sell  Jean's  carvings,  it  will  be  a  bad  day 
for  his  American  trade.  Yes  !  so  it  shall  be.  You 
16  229 


The  HOUSE  of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

will  both  live  happily  ever  after,  and  may  the 
devil  catch  the  Mayoress." 

Henriette  covered  my  hands  with  kisses.  One 
would  never  have  imagined  she  had  ever  been  ac 
quainted  with  grief.  Her  face  was  once  more  all 
dimples  and  roses.  She  fairly  danced  from  the 
room. 

The  chateau  appeared  to  be  something  of  a 
matrimonial  bureau.  It  was  good  to  be  alone  at 
last,  and  I  thanked  a  kindly  Providence,  as,  from 
an  open  window,  I  saw  Margaret  and  Lillian  saun 
tering  toward  the  potager.  The  room  was  very 
still.  A  bee  had  drifted  in  from  the  roses  out 
side,  and  buzzed  and  bumped  against  the  vaulted 
ceiling  high  above  my  head.  I  leaned  back  in  the 
high,  carved  chair,  and  watched,  with  unseeing 
eyes,  the  shafts  of  yellow  sunlight  gleam  across 
the  beautiful  room,  touching  here  a  brilliant  bit  of 
embroidery  or  copper  vase,  to  lose  itself  in  shad 
owy  corners.  Birds  twittered  in  the  vines  about 
the  windows.  Children's  voices  fell  on  the  quiet 
air. 

He  was  gone.  What  else  mattered?  Ingoing, 
had  he  shut  the  door  of  his  heart,  closed  me  out  of 
the  Paradise  I  had  been  too  slow  to  enter? 

230 


The    MAYORESS'S    INVASION 

Tears  rose  to  my  eyes.  For  the  first  time  in  my 
life,  I  knew  what  moral  loneliness  meant,  and 
felt  lost  in  its  chilling  and  pervading  gloom. 
Like  a  child  in  the  dark,  I  longed  to  cry 
out:  "Come  back!  Come  back!  I  will  be 
good." 

My  life,  which,  a  few  short  weeks  before,  had 
seemed  an  unbroken  path  of  tranquil  prosperity, 
now  yawned  like  an  abyss  before  me,  from  which 
I  shrank  shuddering.  I  had  turned  Love  away 
from  fear  of  pain,  and  lo !  pain  was  here,  searing 
and  keen.  Where  was  Love?  Had  he  spread  his 
wings  and  flown  to  \vhere  a  warmer  welcome 
would  bid  him  enter? 

To  have  had  so  precious  a  gift  offered  royally, 
with  complete  magnificence  of  generosity;  and  how 
had  it  been  received?  With  head  bowed  in  humble 
gratitude,  with  eager  hands  outstretched?  To 
have  dallied  with  such  treasure,  while  cold 
reason  whispered  caution!  What  an  imperti 
nence  ! 

And  yet  I  had  meant  to  be  frank.  Was  it  Fate 
which  tangled  the  threads  Love  was  weaving  into 
a  shining  woof,  which  should  have  wrapped  me  in 
warmth  and  beauty? 

231 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

I  turned  my  head  wearily  to  and  fro  against 
the  carved  back  of  my  chair,  while  tears  burned 
against  my  closed  lids.  Alas!  had  the  Mayoress 
delayed  but  two  moments  in  her  invasion,  what 
might  not  have  been  saved! 


CHAPTER  XI 

"AND    so    THEY    WERE    MARRIED" 

THE  days  which    followed  were  shod  with 
lead.    The  beautiful  world  which  he  had 
taught  me  to  see  and  understand  seemed 
an  empty  place,  where  everything  was  an  echo  of 
scenes,  words,  and  incidents  of  which  he  had  been 
the  crux.     I  avoided  the  forest  as  though  ghouls 
haunted  its  glades.     The    Linden   Walk,    where 
drifted  leaves  formed  a  carpet,  seemed  a  vault 
of  dead  memories. 

Whether  Margaret  and  Lillian  guessed  the 
truth  of  the  situation,  seemed  doubtful.  Lillian 
went  on  her  quiet  way  with  a  serene  face.  Except 
for  a  new  silence  and  absorption,  she  was  the 
same.  We  became  nearer  and  dearer  to  one  an 
other,  and  if  I  envied  her  exaltation,  her  sweetness 
was  balm  to  my  wound.  Margaret  was  too  ab 
sorbed  now  in  her  work  to  notice  anything  beyond 
her  studio  walls.  She  received  pleasant  letters 
from  "Bud,"  which  were  read  aloud.  He  always 

233 


The  HOUSE  of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

sent  kind  messages  to  Lillian  and  me,  and  added 
the  hope  that  at  last  the  repose  for  which  we  had 
longed  was  ours. 

I  had  confided  Henriette's  matrimonial  inten 
tions  to  Margaret  and  Lillian,  who  applauded  her 
pluck  to  the  skies.  We  had  a  long  talk  with  Jean, 
who  appeared  to  appreciate  the  gravity  of  the  situ 
ation  less  than  the  perfections  of  his  enslaver. 

It  was  decided  that,  to  avoid  unpleasantness  at 
home,  they  should  be  married  in  Paris  at  the  end 
of  the  month.  If  any  parental  forgiveness  was  to 
be  vouchsafed,  it  might  wait  until  the  knot  was 
tied.  He  insisted,  however,  on  confiding  in  the 
Mayor,  assuring  us  that  his  father  had  well 
learned  the  art  of  keeping  a  secret  from  his  lawful 
spouse.  Jean  also  assured  us  that,  wThile  the 
Mayor  was  much  too  well  disciplined  to  act  con 
trary  to  her  commands,  he  would  undoubtedly 
take  it  in  good  part.  And  so  it  proved. 

A  few  evenings  later,  as  I  was  sauntering  along 
the  road  which  leads  to  Manteuil,  horse's  feet 
were  heard.  The  Mayor  dismounted,  and  walked 
beside  me  in  the  twilight. 

He  approached  the  subject  with  some  diffidence, 
but  made  it  clear  that  he  was  entirely  in  sympathy 

234 


"And    so    THEY    were    MARRIED" 

with  the  idyl.  When  I  unfolded  my  plan  of  the 
shop,  he  so  far  forgot  his  terrors  of  his  wife's  dis 
pleasure,  as  to  guarantee  the  rent! 


"The   Mayor  dismounted,  and   walked   beside  me   in   the 
twilight." 

I  was  delighted  and  surprised,  knowing  how 
relieved  Jean  would  be  to  learn  that  at  least  one 
member  of  his  family  sympathized.  It  was  with 

235 


The   HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

some  embarrassment  and  real  feeling  that  the 
Mayor  specified  reasons  for  his  kindness. 

"You  see,  Madame,  I  owe  my  son  a  debt  of 
which  he  is  ignorant.  My  wild  youth,  those  years 
of  license — my  sins  have  been  visited  upon  my  son, 
and  only  the  merciful  God  knows  of  my  remorse. 
If  I  have  certain  trials,  I  cannot  complain. 
My  punishment  on  earth  may  shorten  my  punish 
ment  beyond.  My  life  is  not  of  a  happiness  to  be 
envied  by  any  man.  Therefore,  it  is  not  I  who 
can  deny  my  son  happiness.  I  trust,  however,  that 
Madame  understands  that  discretion  points  to 
silence." 

To  see  this  giant's  apprehension,  was  laughable, 
had  it  not  exposed  much  that  lay  concealed.  It 
was  arranged  that  Jean  should  depart  from  the 
parental  roof  for  residence  beneath  ours  without 
warning.  Secrecy  was  all  important.  No  living 
soul  but  ourselves  was  to  know  of  the  day,  and 
even  the  Mayor  was  not  to  be  present  at  the  cere 
mony.  To  avert  his  wife's  displeasure,  he  must 
appear  to  have  been  in  total  ignorance  of  his  son's 
defection.  We  three  women  were  to  be  sole  wit 
nesses,  and  recipients  of  the  wrath  to  come. 

During  the  following  weeks  we  spent  much  time 
236 


"And    so    THEY    were    MARRIED" 

in  Paris,  buying  a  suitable  trousseau.  Hildegarde, 
having  secretly  measured  certain  garments  of 
Jean's,  a  goodly  supply  for  him  was  also  requisi 
tioned.  We  all  enjoyed  unpacking  the  mysterious 
parcels  which  soon  inundated  Lepine's  "stuck- 
up"  wagon.  Monograms  decorated  the  piles  of 
snowy  linen,  real  silk  petticoats  rustled,  and  brand 
new  trunks  were  filled  with  pretty  lingerie  and 
smart  little  costumes.  Henriette's  joy  and  grati 
tude  at  times  overcame  her  well-trained  com 
posure,  and  more  than  once  I  caught  her  waltzing 
about  my  room,  duster  waving,  like  a  premiere 
danseuse. 

Margaret  wrote  to  "Bud"  of  the  impending 
event,  inviting  him  to  the  wedding.  He  replied 
that  important  matters  would  prevent  him  having 
that  pleasure,  but  begged  the  happy  pair  to  accept 
a  "trifle"  in  token  of  his  esteem,  which  he  sent  by 
express.  The  "trifle"  proved  to  be  a  magnificent 
elephant's  tusk  of  perfect  ivory,  which  Jean  re 
garded  as  "capital"  in  more  senses  than  one. 

Days  sped  swiftly.  No  one  saw  the  Mayor's 
wife,  and  outwardly  life  trundled  along  in  the 
chateau  and  beyond  its  walls  with  phlegmatic 
calm.  The  secret  of  the  elopement  had  evidently 

237 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

been  well  guarded,  and  we  anticipated  with  enjoy 
ment  the  day  when  the  happy  pair  should  burst 
upon  the  social  horizon  of  our  village  as  man  and 
wife. 

The  wedding  day  dawned  with  a  cloudless  sky. 
It  had  been  arranged  that  we  three  women,  with 
Henriette,  were  to  motor  to  the  station,  Jean  pre 
ceding  us  on  his  bicycle  in  ordinary  clothes.  As 
the  motor  was  a  rapid  conveyance,  we  did  not  start 
till  late,  for  secrecy  is  the  first  rule  of  elopements, 
as  everyone  knows. 

When  we  puff-puffed  from  under  the  arch,  the 
usual  lounging,  gossiping  villagers  failed  to  ap 
pear.  Indeed,  the  street  seemed  strangely 
deserted,  as  though  a  magic  wand  had  hushed  its 
inhabitants  to  slumber  within  their  little  gray 
houses.  Ducks  swam  and  quacked  on  the  pond; 
a  few  dogs  lay  asleep  in  the  sunshine,  but  no 
voices  wished  us  "Bon  jour." 

We  all  remarked  upon  it  as  we  fled  along  be 
tween  fields  where  no  harvesters  or  scythes  dis 
turbed  the  autumn  silence.  At  last  the  station 
came  in  view.  I  rubbed  my  eyes.  What  was  that 
crowd  of  people?  Was  the  President  expected? 
A  band  blared  music  from  the  grass-plot.  Gay 

238 


"And    so    THEY    were    MARRIED" 

streamers  of  bunting  floated  on  the  breeze,  while 
the  "tri-color"  made  patriotic  signals  from  every 
corner  of  the  building. 

As  we  approached,  familiar  faces  detached  them 
selves  from  the  mass:  the  postmistress  in  her  best 
bib  and  tucker;  Madame  Philon,  discretion 
thrown  to  the  winds,  brilliant  in  a  peacock-blue 
foulard  and  hat  of  gigantic  proportions.  The 
schoolmaster  and  his  wife  beamed  with  impor 
tance.  Hildegarde  and  Marie  were  the  only  ab 
sentees,  and  even  they,  too,  appeared,  whirling 
down  the  hill  on  bicycles  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  All 
were  there:  Isidore  and  his  family,  smart  in  cellu 
loid  collars  and  polished  boots;  my  laundress; 
farm  hands;  our  entire  population,  all  talking 
and  laughing,  a  babble  of  gaiety  above  the  music 
from  the  band.  Truly,  this  "secret  elopement" 
was  run  on  original  lines! 

As  we  descended,  a  great  cheer  drowned  the 
band.  Jean,  holding  tightly  to  Henriette's  hand, 
his  face  blanched  with  excitement,  assured  us  by 
the  saints  in  heaven  that  neither  he  nor  she  had 
breathed  the  secret  to  a  living  soul.  How  then 
had  the  secret  become  known?  I  looked  for  the 
Mayor.  He  was  not  there.  Then  I  spied 

219 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

Madame  Philon  watching  us  with  an  apprehensive 
eye,  and  at  once  I  knew  the  Delilah  who  had 
wheedled  the  secret  from  the  "mighty  man." 

But  how  was  it  possible  to  criticise,  with  those 
kindly,  laughing  faces,  those  voices  clamoring 
good  wishes,  as  we  climbed  into  the  train,  from 
which  amazed  faces  stared  in  bewilderment.  It 
was  all  so  gay  and  kind.  It  proved  how  the  world 
loves  lovers.  Henriette  shed  a  tear  of  emotional 
ecstasy  into  a  minute  handkerchief  as  we  steamed 
away,  while  shouts  of  "Good  luck,"  and  waving 
hands  added  to  the  tumult  of  color  and  sound. 

The  religious  ceremony  was  to  take  place  at 
the  Church  of  St.  Phillippe  de  Roule  in  the  Fau 
bourg  St.  Honore,  but  first,  of  course,  we  had  to 
attend  to  the  civil  ceremony  before  the  maire.  As 
the  law  requires  six  months'  residence  in  the  arron- 
dissement,  previous  to  ^the  marriage,  a  special 
license  had  been  required,  but  all  had  been 
arranged. 

It  took  but  a  few  moments  for  the  civil  knot  to 
be  tied  by  the  spectacled  little  Mayor,  whose  pink 
face  beamed  with  satisfaction  in  the  beauty  of  the 
bride  as  well  as  the  size  of  the  fee. 

Then  into  the  cabs  again,  and  off  through  the 
240 


"And    so    THEY    were    MARRIED" 

crowded  street  to  the  church,  where  the  priest 
awaited  in  the  dim,  incense-laden  gloom. 

To  see  Jean's  transfigured  face  lifted  for  the 
final  benediction  was  a  goodly  thing  to  remember. 
A  new  dignity  emanated  from  the  little  bride,  as 
we  congratulated  them  after  we  had  signed  the 
register  as  witnesses.  The  happy  pair  were  to 
lunch  alone,  and  then  go  for  that  drive  in  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne  without  which  no  girl  of  the 
French  middle  class  considers  herself  properly 
wedded.  I  excused  myself  from  the  others  on 
plea  of  shopping,  hopped  into  a  "taxi,"  and  went 
to  my  cousin's  offices  in  the  Boulevard  Haussman, 
for  news  of  the  Archangel.  Luckily  he  was  in.  I 
was  conducted  by  rows  of  little  glass  and  nickel 
cubby  windows,  behind  which  slim  young  gentle 
men  in  black  coats  wrote  in  ponderous  tomes,  to 
the  "chief's  inner  sanctum."  Esconcing  me  in  a 
gigantic  leather  arm-chair,  he  proceeded  to  inun 
date  me  with  questions  before  I  had  a  chance  of 
putting  in  any  of  my  own. 

He,  too,  it  seemed,  had  been  puzzled  and  im 
pressed  by  Monturbia's  personality,  his  odd  com 
bination  of  haughtiness  and  humility,  intelligence 
and  ignorance  of  business  requirements.  But  I 

241 


The   HOUSE    of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

was  promise  bound,  and  for  once  proved  that  a 
woman  can  hold  her  tongue.  He  assured  me  that 
Monturbia  was  acting  as  "foreign  correspondent" 
in  London,  with  entire  satisfaction  to  his  firm, 
showing  a  tact  and  intelligence  that  argued  well 
for  his  future  and  a  speedy  rise  in  salary.  So  I 
departed,  in  high  spirits  at  the  success  of  my  finan 
cial  speculation,  snapping  metaphorical  fingers  at 
a  certain  stiff-necked  old  noble  down  in  Rome. 

No  explosion  followed  the  return  of  the  bride 
and  groom  to  the  chateau,  save  a  general  ebulli 
tion  of  toasts  drunk  to  their  happiness  in  the  little 
wine-shop  where  everyone  stopped  to  gossip.  The 
weeks  passed  in  calm  repose.  At  last  the  quiet  for 
which  I  had  longed  was  mine,  but  where,  oh, 
where,  was  peace?  Not  in  my  heart,  at  all  events. 

Like  a  silly  school-girl,  I  watched  for  the  post 
man  and  listened  with  hungry  ears  as  Margaret 
read  aloud  "Bud's"  letters.  Their  very  cleverness 
and  agreeableness  smarted  like  salt  in  my  wound. 

Those  leaden  days,  when  gray  skies  filled  the 
horizon,  and  dead  leaves  flew  before  the  wind! 
You  ask  why  I  did  not  go  away.  It  was  beyond 
my  powers  to  return  to  Paris  and  its  round  of 

242 


"And    so    THEY    were    MARRIED" 

social  inanities.  Everything  about  me  had  been 
witness  to  such  happiness.  It  was  like  re-reading 
an  engrossing  story:  I  loved  to  turn  again  the 
pages  where  knightly  worship  had  held  me 
breathless. 

There  were  days  of  golden  splendor,  when  the 
blue  arched  above  a  world  of  color  which  dazzled 
the  eye.  The  forest  drew  me  once  more.  I  spent 
long  hours  there  alone,  yet  not  alone;  for  Mem 
ory  walked  with  me  through  those  glades,  so  living 
and  so  dear  that  it  seemed  a  companion,  hand-in- 
hand  with  content. 

Alwyn  was  unconsciously  a  great  comfort  dur 
ing  these  trying  hours.  He  never  wearied  of  the 
subject.  His  affection  and  admiration  equaled 
mine  for  the  hero  of  doughty  deed,  the  mighty 
hunter,  the  "tracker"  of  Indians,  the  Knight  of 
the  Strong  Heart.  The  boy  missed  him  as  much 
as  I  did,  though  in  a  different  way.  No  shadow 
of  regret  or  remorse  added  to  his  loneliness.  We 
went  together  to  all  our  former  haunts;  and  while 
my  ears  listened  to  his  childish  confidences,  an  in 
ner  voice  was  ever  calling,  calling.  Alas!  there 
was  no  answer. 

Friends  from  Paris,  having  learned  of  our  re- 

243 


The   HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

treat,  motored  out  for  luncheon  or  tea,  and  filled 
the  house  with  life  and  laughter,  departing  frankly 
puzzled  at  my  new  penchant  for  the  simple  life. 
Once  someone  spoke  of  Ashburne  to  Margaret, 
regarding  a  rumor  that  he  was  to  be  appointed 
Ambassador  to  Rome.  This  threw  a  side-light  on 
his  life  which  put  him  farther  away  and  out  of 
reach. 

I  called  upon  my  pride.  Here  was  I  fretting  for 
a  man  out  in  the  busy  haunts  of  men,  absorbed,  of 
course,  in  his  ambitions  and  brilliant  existence, 
among  people  and  scenes  with  which  I  had  no 
part.  Doubtless,  if  he  remembered  me  at  all,  it 
was  merely  as  an  episode  in  which  passing  emo 
tions,  engendered  by  circumstances,  had  played  a 
graceful  and  fitting  part. 

And  yet  I  knew  this  to  be  a  fallacy.  I  knew  at 
the  bottom  of  my  lonely  soul  that  the  man's  na 
ture  had  been  stirred  to  its  depths,  that  it  had  been 
no  mere  flowering  of  fragile  passion;  and,  know 
ing  this,  I  hugged  the  conviction  to  my  sore  heart. 
How  strong  he  might  be  in  burying  it  beneath  new 
occupations,  or  in  rooting  it  out  as  a  useless  and 
hampering  burden,  I  could  not  know.  Like  a 
squirrel  in  a  cage,  my  thoughts  ran  round  and 

244 


"And    so    THEY    were    MARRIED" 

round,  arriving  at  no  solution,  and  finding  no  rest 
ing-place. 

But  one  morning  on  my  breakfast-tray  lay  a  fat 
envelope,  addressed  in  Ashburne's  writing.  For 
a  moment  I  did  not  dare  to  touch  it,  but  allowed 
it  to  lie  against  the  Dresden  coffee-pot,  while  I 
stared  at  it  as  though  bewildered.  I  did  not  move 
till  the  door  had  closed  on  Henriette;  then  I 
picked  it  up  with  trembling  fingers.  The  windows 
were  wide  open  to  the  park,  where  autumn  sun 
light  lay  in  misty  shafts  across  the  lawn.  The 
robin  who  came  daily  to  my  window  for  his  al 
lowance  of  crumbs  hopped  and  twittered  unno 
ticed.  Clemenceau  browsed  in  the  foreground, 
while  Alwyn,  with  shrill  cries,  performed  cow 
boy  feats  on  his  back.  I  laid  the  battered  en 
velope  against  my  cheek.  What  lay  within? 
Happiness? 

At  last,  gathering  courage,  I  opened  the  en 
velope.  Out  tumbled  one  brief  page  from  Ash- 
burne,  and  a  letter  of  many  pages  to  him,  from 
the  Archangel.  The  first  was  a  mere  note,  saying 
that  the  enclosure  would  explain  itself,  and  was 
forwarded  to  me  that  I  might  decide  what  was 
best  to  be  done.  He  added  that  if  I  wished  to 
17  245 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

see  him  regarding  the  matter,  he  would  come  with 
pleasure.  I  laid  down  the  letter,  feeling  so  hurt 
and  snubbed  that  it  was  like  a  physical  blow.  To 
have  expected  a  feast  and  received  a  crumb.  Then 
my  good  sense  came  to  my  aid.  Why  should  he 
have  written  differently?  What  other  thing  was 
he  to  write?  He  had  no  superhuman  powers  of 
divination. 

Then  I  took  up  Monturbia's  letter.  It  was 
dated  Rome,  and  with  growing  astonishment,  I 

read: 

"PALAZZO  DI  TORANO, 

"Rome,  October  n,  1910. 
"DEAR  ASHBURNE:— 

"In  my  hurried  note  to  you  from  the  office,  be 
fore  leaving  London,  the  details  as  to  the  cause 
of  my  sudden  departure  wrere  not  given,  and,  feel 
ing  that  your  kindness  deserves  frankness,  I  am 
glad  of  this  opportunity  to  explain  more  fully. 
As  I  wrote  you,  our  family  lawyer  telegraphed  me 
of  my  father's  motor  accident  and  precarious  con 
dition.  Although  he  had  not  asked  for  me,  I  at 
once  explained  the  situation  to  my  employer,  who 
gave  me  leave  of  absence.  Our  lawyer  met  me  at 
the  station  in  Rome  with  the  sad  news  that  my 
father  was  rapidly  sinking,  that  Extreme  Unction 
had  been  administered,  and  that  I  was  to  go  di 
rectly  to  the  Palazzo. 

246 


"And    so    THEY    were    MARRIED" 

"On  arriving,  the  porter  at  the  gate,  who  had 
known  me  from  babyhood,  kissed  my  hands  with 
tears  on  his  old  face — my  only  welcome  home. 
The  great  house  seemed  full  of  shadows  as  we 
passed  along  corridors  and  through  the  rooms 
where,  as  a  child,  I  had  played  with  my  beautiful 
mother.  My  father  lay  high  on  his  pillows.  His 
emaciated  and  powerful  face  called  to  my  heart, 
and  I  knelt  as  a  child  by  his  bed.  He  seemed 
asleep,  and  I  was  filled  with  fear  that  he  might 
pass  away  into  the  Unknown  without  reconcilia 
tion.  It  was  hard  not  to  cry  out  that  I  was  there, 
with  nothing  but  veneration  and  love. 

"I  cannot  express  to  you,  dear  friend,  all  I  felt 
and  thought  kneeling  there.  Time  rolled  back 
ward  :  old  bitterness  fell  away.  Only  memories  of 
past  happiness  remained,  when  we  had  been  much 
to  each  other,  our  mutual  belief  and  pride  in  one 
another,  his  ambitions  for  my  future,  which,  alas! 
I  had  so  betrayed.  The  room  was  dim  with  burn 
ing  candles.  Figures  came  and  went,  but  at  last 
we  were  alone. 

"It  was  then  that,  looking  up,  I  found  his  eyes 
open  and  regarding  me  consciously.  His  hand 
moved  slowly,  with  effort,  and  met  mine.  I  gently 
raised  it  and  laid  it  on  my  bent  head.  It  rested 
there. 

"Can  I  tell  you  of  the  peace  which  flooded  my 
soul?  That  fragile  hand,  ever  heavier,  seemed  a 

247 


The   HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

link  which  bound  us  for  all  Eternity  in  mutual  love 
and  forgiveness. 

"A  shadowy  smile  lit  his  white  face;  the  eyes 
closed  as  though  heavy  with  sleep,  and  the  pallor 
changed  to  waxen  immobility. 

"Death  was  there;  the  Angel  who  carries  tired 
hearts  to  rest.  The  benign  Presence  filled  the 
room  and  smoothed  lines  of  weariness  and  pain 
from  the  still  face  on  the  pillow.  A  look  of  youth 
and  peace  grew  where  they  had  marred  its  nobil 
ity.  I  knelt  with  the  cold  hand  against  my  cheek. 
Grief  for  the  moment  had  no  place.  I  did  not 
even  feel  alone,  but  rather  that  we  were  now 
nearer  to  one  another  than  ever  before  in  mutual 
comprehension  and  sympathy.  I  had  found,  not 
lost,  my  father. 

"And  so,  dear  friend,  I  enter  on  a  new  life 
whose  responsibilities  are  heavy.  It  sobers  my 
youth.  It  hushes  the  clamor  of  personal  emotions, 
this  burden  which  I  in  my  turn  take  up.  Many 
are  dependent  upon  me  for  happiness.  The  inter 
ests  incumbent  upon  great  wealth  must  be  consid 
ered,  and  settled  with  justice.  The  estates  are 
numerous  in  the  city  and  the  provinces,  where  al 
most  feudal  observances  still  hold.  You  will  un 
derstand  that  I  am  unable  to  leave  Italy  for  sev 
eral  weeks. 

"And  now  may  I  speak  of  a  personal  matter? 
You  know  that  I  love  the  Lily,  your  friend's 

248 


"And    so    THEY    were    MARRIED" 

niece,  and  I  wish  to  do  myself  the  honor  of  asking 
her  to  be  my  wife.  I  am  as  yet  ignorant  as  to  her 
feelings  toward  me,  and  doubtful  if  she  cares  for 
me.  It  is  difficult  to  remain  here  in  ignorance,  as 
you  can  well  understand. 

"I  am  also  in  ignorance  as  to  the  customs  of 
her  country  regarding  such  matters.  Advise  me. 
I  know  she  is  an  orphan.  I  hope  she  is  also  with 
out  money,  that  I  may  have  the  happiness  of  giv 
ing  in  material  things  while  she  gives  me  the  price 
less  treasure  of  her  heart. 

"Perhaps  it  were  better  to  allow  it  to  rest  until 
I  can  go  to  your  friend  and  ask  the  hand  of  her 
cousin.  But  one  thing  I  beg  of  you.  She  was  kind 
to  me  as  I  was:  poor,  unknown,  and  unhappy. 
May  I  have  leave  to  try  to  win  her  in  my  former 
capacity?  I  would  not  change  my  personality;  to 
become,  as  it  were,  a  stranger.  I  can  tell  her  that 
I  can  now  support  her  according  to  her  station  in 
life  and  can  offer  her  a  proper  social  position,  but 
more  than  that  I  beg  you  to  keep  from  her  knowl 
edge. 

"You  may  tell  Madame,  your  charming  friend, 
all  I  have  written  you.  I  shall  write  her  as  soon 
as  I  hear  from  you. 

"Assuring  you  of  my  most  profound  considera 
tion,  and  assurance  of  your  sympathy  In  my  loss, 

"I  remain,  dear  Ashburne,  your  friend, 

"TORANO." 
249 


The   HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

The  letter  fell  on  the  counterpane.  A  vision  of 
their  happiness  filled  my  mind.  How  truly 
delightful  and  idyllic  it  all  was:  quite  like  a  story 
out  of  a  novel.  I  longed  to  rush  into  Lillian's 
room  with  the  good  news.  What  pleasure  to  see 
joy  dawn  on  her  face !  There  flashed  through  my 
mind  the  memory  of  my  drive  home  from  Arle 
with  Ashburne:  the  crimson  sky;  the  Summer  ra 
diance;  and  his  quotation: 

"Over  the  hills  and  far  away, 

Beyond  their  utmost  purple  rim, 
And  deep  into  the  dying  day — 

The  happy  princess  followed  him." 

The  happy,  happy  Princess,  wrapped  round  with 
love  and  all  earthly  blessings!     God  bless  her! 

Later  in  the  day  Margaret  was  told,  and  her 
astonishment  almost  left  her  speechless.  We  dis 
cussed  all  the  pros  and  cons,  upside  down  and 
round  and  round.  It  seemed  hard  to  leave  Lil 
lian  in  ignorance;  but  we  finally  decided  that  the 
Archangel  should  have  the  pleasure  himself  of 
his  own  wooing.  But  how  to  restrain  our  own 
emotions  and  keep  sober  faces  in  view  of  this  de 
lightful  state  of  things,  was  a  question. 

250 


"And    so    THEY    were    MARRIED" 

That  night,  in  the  seclusion  of  my  chamber,  I 
wrote  eleven  different  letters  to  Ashburne  and  tore 
them  up.  The  twelfth  seemed  a  satisfactory  com 
position:  as  dignified,  agreeable,  and  to  the  point 
as  his  own.  I  told  him  that  Margaret  and  I  had 
concluded  it  would  be  wiser  to  leave  matters  as 
they  were  until  the  Archangel  (the  old  name  still 
clung)  could  speak  for  himself.  Meanwhile,  I 
would  get  the  consent  of  her  Aunt.  There  might 
be  a  little  delay  in  the  latter.  The  Aunt  put  little 
faith  in  princes  or  in  the  sons  of  them,  as  Bridge 
port,  Massachusetts,  was  seldom  visited  by  that 
commodity.  I  expressed  my  own  pleasure  in  this 
charming*  denouement,  and  my  belief  in  their  fu 
ture  happiness,  adding  the  hope  that  he  would  let 
me  know  if  anything  further  transpired. 

We  took  up  our  life  again  with  outward  calm; 
but  beneath,  strong  currents  surged  and  eddied. 
We  now  each  carried  a  secret,  and  unconsciously 
drifted  into  reticence.  Outwardly  we  chattered 
and  laughed  as  of  yore,  but  often  it  was  false 
gaiety  on  my  part.  As  for  Lillian,  she  made  no 
pretense  at  gaiety;  only  tranquility.  But  her  face 
lost  its  bloom.  A  look  of  fragility  dimmed  her 
beauty,  and  the  very  sweetness  of  her  patience 

251 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

and  silence  seemed  unnatural.  Spiritual  exaltation 
might  be  all  very  well,  but  the  body  weakened  be 
neath  the  strain.  I  longed  to  tell  her,  but  feared 
that,  after  all,  some  unforeseen  thing  might  arise 
to  spoil  matters,  and  so  held  my  tongue. 

Several  letters  from  the  Archangel  came,  full 
of  impatient  anticipation;  but  nothing  more  from 
Ashburne.  We  read  in  the  papers  of  his  appoint 
ment  as  Ambassador  to  Rome,  with  accounts  of 
his  brilliant  career,  and  once  or  twice  saw  his 
name  among  the  list  of  distinguished  people  at 
some  English  house-party  or  social  function.  Mar 
garet,  absorbed  in  her  work,  allowed  the  corre 
spondence  to  drop,  and  so  Alwyn  and  I  had  only 
each  other  with  whom  to  talk  of  the  absent  one. 

Weeks  passed.  Bare  branches  now  tossed 
against  bleak  skies.  The  forest  now  was  a  thing  of 
sullen  silence  and  shivering  glades,  where  dead 
leaves  lay  sodden.  I  took  long  walks  about  the 
country,  often  with  the  rain  beating  in  my  face  and 
soaking  my  hair  into  tendrils  against  my  cheeks. 
I  was  conscious  of  new  beauty  in  dull  colors  on 
every  hand,  which  my  eyes  saw,  but  in  which  my 
heart  took  not  the  smallest  pleasure. 

The  library  was  a  great  solace.  For  the  first 
252 


"And    so    THEY    were    MARRIED" 

time  I  had  the  opportunity  to  read  those  books 
which  we  all  intend  to  enjoy  "some  day."  The 
contempt  of  great  minds  for  the  ills  of  life  braced 
my  faltering  strength.  During  those  long  hours 
before  the  great  fire,  in  the  solitude  of  that  beau 
tiful  room,  I  grew  to  know  myself  and  to  forget 
much  that  hampered. 

Thanksgiving  Day  passed  with  its  challenge  to 
digestion,  and  Christmas  drew  near.  We  planned 
a  festive  time  for  all  our  little  world:  a  Tree  in 
the  "white  salon,"  to  which  all  the  children  of  our 
village  and  their  parents  were  invited.  The 
schoolmaster  trained  the  children  to  sing  carols  in 
our  honor,  and  Hildegarde's  imagination  mounted 
to  such  heights  of  culinary  effort  that  we  trem 
bled  for  our  lives.  As  the  day  approached,  sundry 
journeys  to  Paris  were  necessary,  with  lists,  as 
long  as  your  arm,  of  gifts  suitable  for  each  in 
habitant  within  and  without  our  walls. 

Ten  days  before  the  great  Day,  Margaret 
wrote  Ashburne,  begging  him  to  come  for  a  few 
days  to  join  in  the  festivities,  and  insisted  on  Lil 
lian  and  myself  attaching  our  signatures  to  hers. 
You  may  imagine  whether  or  no  I  watched  the 
postbag  after  it  was  sent ! !  A  letter  arrived  from 

253 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

the  Archangel,  asking  if  he  might  be  permitted 
to  spend  Christmas  with  us  for  the  adjustment  of 
certain  matters  of  importance.  Margaret  wired 
an  eager  "Yes!"  and  I  sent  another  on  my  own 
account,  of  such  joyful  length  that  the  telegraph 
operator  must  have  drawn  mistaken  conclusions. 

Three  days  before  Christmas,  Alwyn  rushed 
into  my  room  one  morning  and  executed  a  war- 
dance,  shouting:  "He's  coming!  He's  coming!" 

I  snatched  at  him  as  he  whirled  by,  and  fairly 
shook' him  to  sobriety. 

"Who  is  coming?"  I  demanded. 

He  threw  strangling  arms  about  my  neck. 

"Bud,  of  course!" 

We  embraced  one  another  then  with  equal  fer 
vor,  while  my  falling  hair  hid  a  face  where  joy  and 
thankfulness  shone  with  betraying  effulgence. 

After  that  the  hours  flew  on  golden  wings. 
What  pleasure  to  make  the  old  house  beautiful 
for  him!  Excursions  were  made  into  the  forest, 
from  which  we  returned  laden  with  holly  and  mis 
tletoe.  A  giant  fir-tree  was  felled  and  drawn  to 
the  house  by  oxen.  This  was  erected  in  the 
"white  salon,"  and,  after  Alwyn  was  safe  in  bed, 
Isidore  mounted  a  ladder  and  hung  it  from  top 

254 


"And    so    THEY    were    MARRIED" 

to  bottom  with  candles,  bags  of  "goodies,"  and 
every  known  toy  capable  of  suspension. 

The  day  before  Christmas  Margaret  received 
a  wire,  saying  that  our  two  guests  were  to  meet 


"'He's  coming!     He's  coming!'" 

in  Paris  and  arrive  Christmas  afternoon  at  three. 
The  festivities  were  to  commence  at  five,  so  all 
was  as  it  should  be. 

The  Day  dawned  bitterly  cold  and  gray,  with 
every  evidence  of  snow,  and  before  noon  it  came, 
drifting  down  through  windless  air.  All  was  bustle 

255 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

and  confusion.  Delectable  odors  came  from  the 
kitchen,  where  our  Treasure,  with  her  best  dress 
tucked  up,  issued  last  orders.  Alwyn  flew  here 
and  there,  like  an  animated  jumping-jack,  his 
cheeks  like  roses  and  eyes  brilliant  with  excite 
ment.  He  was  to  head  the  procession  of  children 
with  Marianne,  as  they  marched  through  the  cha 
teau,  singing,  to  the  salon,  and  he  felt  the  impor 
tance  of  the  occasion. 

All  was  ready.  Even  Lillian  had  lost  her  pal 
lor,  and  my  heart  seemed  to  have  left  its  accus 
tomed  place  in  my  bosom  for  my  throat,  where  it 
beat  in  stifling  throbs. 

At  last  the  motor  was  heard.  We  ran  to  the 
hall  door,  from  which  a  stream  of  crimson  light 
threw  a  welcoming  glow  across  the  snowy  court. 
Shout  answered  shout,  as  it  spun  through  the  arch, 
and  in  a  moment  Ashburne  was  hugging  Margaret 
with  scandalous  audacity,  while  the  Archangel, 
with  a  white  face  which  seemed  to  emit  a  radiance 
from  within,  was  holding  Lillian's  hands,  while 
she  stood  trembling  pitifully  with  downcast  eyes. 

Then  Ashburne  turned  to  me.  My  hand  lay  in 
his  firm  grasp  for  a  long  moment.  His  eyes 
searched  my  face  hungrily,  his  own  tremulous  with 

256 


"And    so    THEY    were    MARRIED" 

feeling.  Then  Margaret  whisked  them  both  up 
stairs,  and  I  was  alone. 

"He  is  here!  He  is  here!"  sang  my  happy 
heart.  "He  loves  me!  He  loves  me!"  sang  my 
soul.  I  knew  it  as  surely  as  though  he  had  shouted 
it  to  me  in  words,  during  the  moment  his  eyes  had 
held  mine.  The  joy  intoxicated,  inundated  my 
being.  I  had  come  into  my  heritage  at  last.  Life 
became  for  me  a  glory.  The  whole  world  seemed 
too  narrow  to  hold  my  joy.  As  he  had  said  that 
night  in  the  Linden  Walk:  "It  must  fill  the  human 
heart  till  life's  sordidness  is  forgotten;  yet  be  so 
vast  and  of  such  mighty  strength  that  one's  heart 
cannot  hold  it  all,  and  it  spreads  beyond,  to  the 
world  outside,  where  pain  is.  Of  its  own  joy 
must  it  give  to  those  who  have  none " 

"To  give  to  those  who  have  none!"  Surely 
happiness  was  for  all  that  blessed  night.  But, 
even  as  I  thought,  I  remembered  the  Mayor's 
wife.  Alas !  in  all  our  glad  village  she  was  the 
only  one  who  did  not  share  our  happiness.  She 
had  declined  our  invitation,  though  the  Mayor  ac 
cepted.  I  had  not  seen  her  to  speak  to  since  the 
day  of  the  fateful  interview,  and  the  thought  of 
her  alone,  bereft  of  her  son,  was  not  to  be  borne. 

257 


The   HOUSE    of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

Already  our  guests  were  gathering.  The  court 
echoed  with  their  merry  laughter  and  greetings. 
There  was  not  a  moment  to  be  lost.  Pushing  my 
feet  into  Alwyn's  wooden  sabots,  and  throwing  a 
large  cape  over  my  white  dress,  I  softly  opened 
the  side  door  and  stole  out. 

The  snow  fell  heavily.  Skirting  the  garden,  I 
made  my  way  across  the  potagcr  to  the  gate,  be 
hind  Isidore's  house  which  opened  on  the  street. 
The  night  was  still  and  intensely  black.  Only  the 
crimson  gleam  from  cottage  windows  lit  my  way 
as  I  hurried  along.  The  cold  bit  my  face  and  bare 
fingers;  the  snow  powdered  my  hair. 

But  it  was  not  far.  I  reached  the  gate  to  the 
great  central  yard,  sped  across  the  white  carpet, 
and  paused  by  the  uncurtained  window.  I  could 
see  the  interior  distinctly.  By  a  small  fire  sat  the 
object  of  my  quest  alone,  hands,  from  which  knit 
ting  had  fallen,  idle  in  her  lap.  Her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  dying  embers.  She  \vas  off  guard,  and 
on  the  hard  face  loneliness  and  bitterness  were 
written  in  every  line. 

Softly  I  opened  the  door,  crept  into  the  passage, 
and  stood  hesitating  on  the  threshold,  my  own 
temerity  for  the  first  time  chilling  my  impulse. 

258 


"And    so    THEY    were    MARRIED" 

What  right  had  I  to  thus  intrude?  Some  instinct 
made  her  aware  of  an  alien  presence  in  the  dark 
ened  room.  Her  head  turned,  and,  as  she  started 
to  rise,  I  ran  forward,  letting  fall  my  cloak,  and 
dropped  to  my  knees  before  her. 

"Dear  Madame,  forgive  me!  Pardon  me!  I 
am  come  with  a  message  of  peace.  We  want  you 
with  us  to-night.  Jean,  your  son,  is  unhappy  to 
be  so  parted.  He — we  all — beg  you  to  come  and 
be  glad  with  us." 

She  drew  her  hands  from  my  eager  clasp. 

"Did  anyone  tell  you  to  do  this  thing?"  shs 
asked,  with  a  darkening  face. 

"No  one,  Madame;  but  just  my  wish  for  peace 
and  good-will." 

"They  don't  want  me,  my  son  and  that  wife 
of  his,  any  more  than  I  want  to  remember 
them." 

"But  they  do.  Your  boy  loves  you.  His  only 
fault  lies  in  loving  another,  too,  and  hearts  were 
made  to  love  many." 

"She  took  him  from  me.  What  right  had  she 
to  rob  me  of  all  I  had?" 

"You  might  have  gained  a  daughter,  and  not 
lost  a  son." 

259 


The  HOUSE   of  THE  SEVEN  GABBLERS 

"He  left  me,  his  mother,  for  the  first  pretty 
face  he  saw — I  who  had  given  him  all,  for  her 
who  had  given  him  nothing." 

"Did  you  not  love  his  father  so  once,  and  leave 
father,  mother,  and  home  for  him?" 

But  her  mouth  closed  in  obstinate  lines.  Dis 
couragement  filled  my  quaking  breast.  Then, 
kneeling  there,  holding  her  worn  hands  in  mine,  I 
spoke  swiftly  and  low,  the  words  hurrying  from 
my  heart. 

"Dear  Madame,  once,  long  ago,  in  Bethlehem, 
a  mother  laid  her  new-born  baby  in  a  manger.  She 
hung  above  her  child,  filled  with  love  and  tender 
awe,  just  as  you  and  I  did  above  our  children. 
He  was  Incarnate  Love.  He  grew  to  manhood, 
loving  all,  pitying  all,  forgiving  all,  even  those 
who  sent  him  to  die.  His  life  was  one  long  self- 
abnegation — His  one  wish  that  we,  too,  should 
learn  the  beauty  of  loving  and  forgiving.  The 
same  stars  which  shine  above  us  to-night  shone  on 
Him  two  thousand  years  ago  as  He  lay  asleep. 
Would  your  own  heart  not  be  happier  remember 
ing  that  divine  heritage  of  love?" 

She  snatched  her  hands  from  mine,  and  covered 
her  face,  rocking  to  and  fro,  as  I  knelt  in  silence. 

260 


"And    so    THEY    were    MARRIED" 

But  no  word  came.  I  leaned  forward  against  her 
knee. 

"Your  son  loves  you,"  I  whispered.  "He  longs 
for  you  to-night,  the  birthnight  of  the  dear  Christ. 
What  would  He  have  you  do?  We  are  all  chil 
dren  in  His  sight:  blundering,  mistaken,  wrong- 
headed  children,  hurting  ourselves  as  we  stumble 
in  the  dark.  Have  pity,  as  He  had  pity  for  us  all. 
Take  him  back  to  your  heart.  Forgive " 

Sobs  came  strangling  from  behind  the  hard 
hands :  sobs  which  were  wrenched  from  depths, 
shaking  the  massive  frame.  I  knew  the  battle 
was  won. 

"My  boy!     My  boy!"  came  the  gasping  cry. 

Rising,  I  put  my  arms  about  her,  holding  the 
black  head  to  my  breast,  soothing,  patting,  while 
sobbing  words  poured  from  her  lips.  At  last  the 
storm  spent  itself,  and  shamefacedly  she  dried 
her  eyes,  as  I  begged  her  to  hurry  and  dress  to  re 
turn  with  me. 

She  was  docile  in  my  hands  as  I  led  her  from 
the  room,  and,  calling  the  maid,  took  her  upstairs 
to  the  great,  bare  room  where  a  giant  mahogany 
bed,  hung  in  white  dimity,  and  horsehair  furniture 
bespoke  Spartan  virtue  and  abhorrence  of  things 
18  261 


The   HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

frivolous.  We  seated  her  before  the  glass,  and  I 
ordered  the  maid  to  undo  the  knob  of  hair  and  to 
puff  it  about  her  face  in  soft  waves.  I  chattered 
gayly  to  relieve  embarrassment,  and  soon  she,  too, 
awoke  to  the  charm  and  novelty  of  effort  toward 
adornment,  when  she  saw  her  face  framed  in  co 
quettish  locks. 

It  was  she  who  directed  a  certain  trunk  to  be 
opened  and  a  lavender  silk,  lustrous  and  rich,  to 
be  brought  forth — a  souvenir  of  a  recent  wed 
ding.  I  shuddered  at  the  glimpse  of  coarse  cotton 
lingerie,  trimmed  with  "tatting,"  and  the  prunella 
shoes  without  heels.  As  we  fastened  the  corsage 
about  her  rotund  form  she  stood  back,  and  gazed 
critically  at  her  image  between  the  flickering 
candles  on  either  side  of  the  mirror. 

"What  was  it  she  said  about  my  waist?"  she 
asked  slowly.  "She  said  I  should  have  kept  it. 
But  it's  gone,  n'est-ce-pas?"  with  a  wry  smile. 

"But  not  forever,"  I  replied  gayly.  "Stop  soup, 
potatoes,  and  pastry,  and  with  three  kilometers  a 
day  at  a  brisk  walk — you'll  be  a  sylph." 

She  turned  from  side  to  side  before  the 
mirror. 

"Soup,  potatoes,  and  pastry,"  she  repeated 
262 


"  'What  was  it  she  said  about  my  waist  ?'  she  asked  slowly." 

slowly,  adding:  "Finette,  have  you  any  face  pow 
der?" 

The  maid  stared  in  astonishment. 
"But,  of  course,  Madame!" 
"Then  stop  gaping,  and  run  and  get  it." 
Finette   returned,   and   I  had  the  pleasure   of 
dusting  that  Roman  nose  with  my  own  hands  with 
that  beautifying  cosmetic. 

263 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN  GABBLERS 

At  last  the  momentous  toilette  was  completed, 
and  she  stood  transformed — a  handsome  woman. 
The  "eternal  feminine"  made  itself  evident,  as 
she  cast  a  farewell  glance  at  herself,  saying: 

"She  can't  say  now  I  look  like  the  Ten  Com 
mandments  dressed  in  black  bombazine!" 

We  found  the  chateau  ablaze  with  lights  and 
swarming  with  merrymakers.  We  slipped  in  by 
the  side  door,  and,  bidding  her  wait  there,  I  went 
in  search  of  Jean,  and  sent  him  to  his  mother. 
What  transpired  will  never  be  known,  but  Jean 
and  Henriette  acted  as  her  bodyguard  the  rest  of 
the  evening,  all  three  faces  beaming  with  happi 
ness.  It  may  be  noted  that  the  Mayor  stared  at 
his  transformed  spouse  in  open-eyed  amazement, 
and  that  Madame  Philon  saw  but  little  of  him. 

At  five  the  orchestra  from  Manteuil  struck  into 
the  "Marseillaise,"  and  then,  through  the  long 
corridor,  two  and  two,  came  the  children:  forty- 
two  of  them,  singing  their  Christmas  carol.  The 
sweet,  childish  voices  rang  up  to  the  vaulted  ceil 
ing  and  through  the  old  house  like  a  call  to  joy. 
Alwyn,  with  Marianne's  hand  in  his,  led  the  pro 
cession,  head  up,  eyes  searching  mine.  Behind  the 
children  came  the  Mayor  and  his  wife,  the  school- 

264 


"And    so    THEY    were    MARRIED" 

master  and  his  wife,  all  the  familiar  faces  bright 
with  happiness.  At  last  they  reached  the  salon, 
where,  towering  to  the  ceiling,  blazed  the  tree, 
magnificently  laden  with  gifts. 

The  Mayor  then  stepped  forward  and  in  a 
graceful  little  speech  thanked  us  for  their  pleasure, 
and  paid  each  such  charming  compliments  as  filled 
our  elated  breasts  with  vain-glory.  Three  cheers 
followed,  while  the  music  added  to  the  babble  of 
happy  voices. 

Then  presents  were  distributed  amid  exclama 
tions  and  laughter,  followed  by  hot  punch.  Games 
followed.  Oh!  those  games!  We  were  children 
together,  dignity  thrown  to  the  winds.  We  started 
with  "follow-my-leader"  all  over  the  house,  the 
Mayor  and  I  leading.  Such  antics !  To  this  day  I 
blush  for  the  delirious  dance  I  led  old  and  young, 
from  garret  to  cellar,  whirling  through  rooms  and 
through  the  maze  of  corridors,  twisting,  turning, 
screaming  with  laughter. 

Then  followed  dancing.  The  great  white  room 
became  a  whirl  of  spinning  figures^  bobbing  about 

• 

with  true  French  disregard  for  time  or  space. 
Mothers  danced  with  children;  old  men  with 
maids.  The  school-master  whirled  past  with  Hil- 

265 


The   HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

degarde,  his  coat-tails  sticking  out  at  right  angles. 
I  found  myself  in  Ashburne's  arms,  conscious  of 
nothing  for  the  moment  but  his  strong  embrace 
and  a  dazzle  of  movement  and  color.  I  felt  my 
self  being  carried  into  paradise  on  waves  of  mel 
ody,  and  did  not  wake  to  reality  until  almost 
knocked  into  insensibility  by  Isidore,  who  was  gy 
rating  like  a  demon  on  a  hot  platter  with  Madame 
Philon.  We  laughed  and'drew  aside  into  the  em 
brasure  of  the  window,  as  we  heard  the  Mayor's 
stentorious  voice  call  above  the  din:  "All  hands 
round!" 

In  a  moment  we  were  carried  into  the  great 
circle  hand-in-hand.  Round  and  round  we 
whirled:  faster,  ever  faster,  stumbling  and  run 
ning,  while  the  lights  in  the  chandelier  danced  in 
unison.  Once  we  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  Mayor 
ess,  perspiring,  disheveled,  but  joyous,  clutching 
tightly  to  Jean's  hand  as  we  spun  by  in  the  dizzy 
whirl.  Then  the  orchestra  stopped  with  a  crash, 
and  we  stood  gasping. 

But  all  good  things  come  to  an  end,  and  good- 
nights  were  said  at  last.  It  was  then  that  the  dear 
old  Cure  stepped  forward  before  the  great  fire 
place  and,  raising  both  hands,  asked  for  silence. 

266 


"And    so    THEY    were    MARRIED" 

We  all  stood  hushed,  as,  with  his  faded  blue  eyes 
raised,  and  his  white  head  a  delicate  silhouette 
against  the  dancing  flames,  he  "blessed  the 
House."  It  was  a  quaint  and  touching  ceremony, 
and,  as  everyone  echoed  his  low  "Amen,"  we  felt 
that  the  Christ-child's  spirit  indeed  hallowed  the 
place. 

When  the  last  guest  had  gone,  Margaret  and 
Lillian  disappeared,  leaving  the  Archangel,  Ash- 
burne,  Alwyn,  and  me  grouped  about  the  fire,  dis 
cussing  the  eventful  evening.  We  were  all  some 
what  tired  after  the  frolic,  and  silent,  each  in 
wardly  absorbed  in  an  undercurrent  of  thought. 
It  was  Alwyn  who  kept  the  conversational  ball 
rolling. 

"Italy  is  where  brigands  live,  isn't  it?"  he  asked 
the  Archangel,  who  seemed  absent-minded,  but 
roused  himself  to  attention. 

"Yes,  my  boy,  but  not  in  Rome,  where  I  live. 
They  cling  to  the  mountains,  where  they  can  steal 
with  greater  safety." 

"You  never  were  a  brigand?" 

"I,  a  brigand?     No,  indeed!" 

"And  you  never  thought  really  of  stealing,  did 


you?" 


267 


The  HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

"Certainly  not.  Did  you  think  stealing  was  my 
profession?" 

Ashburne  laughed. 

"He  evidently  supposes  you  have  a  dagger  up 
your  sleeve,  a  mask  in  your  pocket,  and  crime  on 
your  soul." 

"Not  at  all,  Bud,"  said  Alwyn  indignantly. 
"I'm  only  puzzled,  for  the  other  day  I  heard  Dear 
say  that  Mr.  Monturbia  was  going  to  steal  our 
treasure." 

We  avoided  glancing  at  each  other's  embar 
rassed  faces,  and  then  broke  into  uncontrollable 
laughter,  while  my  son  stared  in  hurt  surprise  at 
our  levity.  Then  the  Archangel  rose  and  stood 
before  me,  with  his  hand  on  Alwyn's  head. 

"Thank  you,  mon  cher  petit  ami,  for  making 
this  opportunity,"  he  said  gravely.  "I  do,  indeed, 
wish  to  steal  a  treasure — your  cousin  Lillian." 
Then,  turning  to  me  with  simple  dignity:  "Dear 
madame,  the  moment  seems  propitious.  I  can 
wait  no  longer.  You  know  why  I  am  come  from 
Italy.  It  is  that  I  may  do  myself  the  honor  of 
asking  for  the  hand  of  mademoiselle,  your  cousin. 
Will  you,  with  her  guardian's  consent,  give  her  to 
me,  if  she  be  willing?" 

268 


"And    so    THEY    were    MARRIED" 

I  looked  up  into  the  beautiful  face,  strong  in 
nobility. 

"With  all  my  heart,"  I  said,  "and  may  every 
bjessing  and  happiness  come  to  you  both." 

He  stooped  low  over  my  hand,  and  kissed  it 
with  courtly  grace. 

"I  have  no  adequate  words  with  which  to  thank 
you,  madame."  Then,  turning  to  Ashburne,  with 
both  hands  outstretched :  "And  may  I  thank  you, 
also?  I  have  been  indeed  blessed  in  such  a 
friend." 

But  Alwyn's  voice  interrupted  these  formal 
ities. 

"I  say!"  he  exclaimed;  "it  seems  a  bit  cheeky 
for  you  to  be  giving  Cousin  Lillian  away.  She  is 
a  grown-up,  and  may  not  like  it." 

I  smiled  up  at  the  Archangel. 

"Don't  you  think,  O  happy  prince,  that  you 
had  better  ask  her?" 

"You  had  just  better,"  warned  Alwyn.  "She  is 
in  the  library,  picking  up  pop-corn." 

As  the  Archangel  started  with  alacrity  for  the 
door,  Alwyn  called  to  him:  "Can  you  get  on  all 
right  without  me?" 

"Thanks,  caro,  I  wouldn't  disturb  you  for  the 
269 


The   HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

world.  You  may  feel  sure  that  I  will  make  her 
understand." 

The  door  closed,  and  Alwyn  climbed  to  my 
knee,  leaning  his  head  against  my  shoulder.  He 
seemed  physically  tired,  but  evidently  mentally 
alert.  No  one  spoke.  We  watched  the  leaping 
flames,  while  candles  died  to  darkness.  It  was 
still  and  warm.  Whirling  snow-flakes  filled  the 
window  spaces,  clinging  to  the  glass  in  grotesque 
traceries.  Ashburne  leaned  his  tall  frame  against 
the  high  cheminee,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand. 

"It  is  good  to  be  here,"  he  said  quietly.  "It  is 
like  coming  home." 

"We  did  miss  you  awfully,  didn't  we,  Dear?" 
said  Alwyn. 

"Yes!"  said  I. 

"Did  you  really,  both  of  you?"  asked  Ashburne. 

"Well,  rather!  Dear  even  more  than  me. 
Every  night  before  I  said  my  prayers,  when  she 
held  me,  she  used  to  say:  'Now,  let  us  talk  about 
the  Knight  of  the  Strong  Heart,'  for  that  was 
what  she  always  called  you,  you  know.  And  then 
she  would  tell  me  bully  stories  about  your  adven 
tures  :  how  you  had  rescued  a  Fair  Lady  from  a 
dungeon  called  the  Prison  of  Self,  and  how  the 

270 


"And    so    THEY    were    MARRIED" 

Fair  Lady  wept  when  the  Knight  rode  away  to 
the  wars.  It  was  all  so  truly  true  that  she  really 
cried.  I  felt  her  tears  on  my  hair,  all  wet  and 
mussy." 

I  sat  silent,  hiding  crimson  cheeks  where  those 
tears  had  fallen.  Ashburne  stirred. 

"Did  she  never  tell  you  why  the  Knight  rode 
away?"  he  asked. 

"No!  she  left  that  out  of  the  story." 

"Well,  you  see,  the  Knight  found  out  that  the 
Fair  Lady  didn't  care  so  much  about  him,  or,  if 
she  did,  she  didn't  know  how  much.  So  the 
Knight  said  to  himself:  'I  will  go  away,  and  per 
haps  she  will  come  to  miss  me  a  little.  I  will  give 
her  plenty  of  time  to  sit  quite  alone  in  her  high 
tower;  to  remember  all  I  told  her,  and  how  dearly 
I  love  her.  Then  she  may  miss  my  worship;  feel 
pity  for  me,  who  find  the  wide  world  a  dreary 
place  without  her.  Then,  when  I  return,  she  may 
give  me  welcome,  and  bid  me  enter,  that  neither 
may  be  alone  any  more.'  ' 

"Of  course  the  Lady  was  polite,  and  invited 
him  in?"  said  Alwyn. 

"I  do  not  know.  Perhaps  your  Dear  will  finish 
the  story." 

271 


The   HOUSE   of  THE   SEVEN   GABBLERS 

"Did  he,  Dear?" 

"Yes!"  said  I  softly. 

"And  she  was  never  shut  up  in  the  Prison  of 
Self  again?" 

"No!     Never  again,"  said  I. 

"And  so  they  were  married,"  said  Ashburne 
gravely,  "and  lived  happily  forever  after.  Now, 
old  chap,  don't  you  think  your  supper  is  ready? 
Hadn't  you  better  run  and  see?" 

"Right,  Bud!  I'm  just  as  hungry  as  though  I 
hadn't  eaten  four  gingerbread  elephants  and  three 
bags  of  candies.  Hildegarde  says  I'm  the  Bottom 
less  Pit." 

He  slipped  from  my  knee  and  ran  from  the 
room.  We  heard  his  light  footfall  along  the  dis 
tant  corridor.  Then  all  was  silent,  save  leaping 
flames  and  the  beating  of  my  happy  heart. 

"Dear!"  he  whispered.  I  looked  up.  The 
Knight  of  the  Strong  Heart  was  standing  before 
me  with  outstretched  arms. 


P.  S. — The  Editor  suggests  that  I  should  bid 
my  kind  readers  a  more  formal  adieu.  What  can 
I  add,  save  the  wish  that  some  day  we  may  meet 
again  in  the  House  of  the  Seven  Gabblers.  For 
now  it  is  our  own,  and  Margaret  and  the  Toranos 
spend  happy  weeks  with  us  here,  forgetting  the 
world  which  holds  us  all  by  many  interests.  If 
you  chance  to  find  yourselves  in  this  corner  of 
sunny  France,  knock  at  our  portals,  and  you  will 
be  made  welcome.  As  Isidore  says,  "a  hospitable 
house  allows  no  grass  to  grow  in  its  court-yard." 
And  so,  au  revoirf 


(i) 


NOVELS  BY  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 

"The  most  popular  'writer  in  the  country.  "—NEW  YORK  WORLD. 

Ailsa  Paige.  Bound  in  green  cloth  with  gold  title.  Eight 
full-page  illustrations  by  F.  Vaux  Wilson  and  wrapper 
in  colors  and  gold.  $1.50. 

This  book  contains  not  only  the  striking  pictures  of  fashionable  life  fo. 
which  Mr.  Chambers  is  famous,  introducing  a  hero  as  strong  and  as  inter 
esting  as  Malcourt  in  "The  Firing  Line"  and  a  heroine  as  fascinating  as 
Sylvia  Landis  in  "The  Fighting  Chance,"  but  with  these  personalities  is  fused 
a  theme  of  noblest  patriotism,  animating  the  vivid,  graphic  pictures  of  the 
preparations  for  and  the  grim  fighting  in  our  Civil  War.  Throughout  tht 
whole  story,  the  influence  of  a  strong,  passionate,  uplifting  love  is  shown  para 
mount  in  the  lives  of  a  wondrous  woman  and  a  vigorous  man. 

The  Danger  Mark.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

This  new  society  novel  presents  another  side  of  the  wonderful  art  of 
Mr.  Chambers.  '1  he  background  is  woven  of  the  same  delightful,  casual, 
happy-go-lucky  people,  moving  among  the  same  sort  of  fascinating  scenes  and 
incidents  to  which  the  former  novels  owe  much  of  their  popularity.  The 
theme  is  in  many  respects  the  most  important  Mr.  Chambers  has  yet  handled. 

The  Firing  Line.     Illustrated.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

This  is  unquestionably  the  best  novel  Mr.  Chambers  has  ever  written. 
The  scenes  are  laid  in  Palm  Beach,  Florida;  New  York,  and  the  Adirondacks, 
and  the  story  presents  the  accomplishment  of  a  great  novel  which  was  promised 
by  the  author's  preliminary  trials  in  "The  Fighting  Chance"  and  "The 
Younger  Set." 

The  Younger  Set.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  The  Younger  Set  "  is  a  novel  of  the  swirl  of  wealthy  New  York  society. 
The  hero,  forced  out  of  the  army  by  domestic  troubles,  returns  to  New  York 
homeless  and  idle.  He  finds  a  beautiful  girl  who  promises  ideal  happiness. 
But  new  complications  intervene  and  are  described  with  what  the  New  York 
Sun  calls  Mr.  Chambers'  "amazing  knack  of  narrative." 

The  Fighting  Chance.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

One  of  the  most  brilliant  pictures  of  wealthy  American  society  ever  painted; 
one  of  the  most  interesting  and  appealing  stories  ever  written  ;  one  of  the 
most  widely  read  of  all  American  novels.  The  novel  that  brought  Mr.  Cham 
bers  to  the  front  rank. 

"After  'The  House  of  Mirth'  a  New  York  society  novel  has  to  be  very 
good  not  to  suffer  fearfully  by  comparison.  '  The  Fighting  Chance '  is  very 
good  and  it  does  not  suffer."—  Cleveland  Plain  Dealer. 

"  There  is  no  more  adorable  person  in  recent  fiction  than  Sylvia  Landis." 

— New  York  Evening  Sun. 

D.  APPI,  ETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK 


NOVELS  BY  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 

"  The  most  popular  writer  in  the  country."— NEW  YORK  WORLD. 


The   Green   Mouse.     Illustrated  in  Colors  by  Edmund 
Frederick.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

A  novel  founded  on  a  most  whimsically  entertaining  notion  of  a  wireless 
machine  that  catches  and  brings  into  contact  the  psychic  waves  of  persons 
of  opposite  sex. 

Special  Messenger.     Illustrated,  Colored  Inlay  on  Cover. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

The  romantic  love  story  of  a  woman  spy  in  the  Civil  War. 

lole.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"Think  of  eight  pretty  girls  in  pink  silk  pajamas  and  sunbonnets, 
brought  i'p  in  innocence  in  a  scientific  Eden,  with  a  '  House  Beautiful '  HI 
the  background,  and  a  poetical  father  in  the  foreground.  Think  again  of 
those  rose-petalled  creations  turned  loose  upon  New  York  society  and  then 
enjoy  the  fun  of  it  all  in  '  lole.'  " — Boston  Herald. 

Some  Ladies  in  Haste.    Illustrated.    Cloth,  $1.50. 

Mr.  Chambers  has  written  most  delightfully,  and  in  his  charming  satire 
depicts  the  plight  of  five  society  girls  and  five  clubmen.  It  is  by  far  his  best 
work  in  the  lighter  vein. 

The  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons.   Illustrated.   Cloth,  $1.50. 

The  captivating  account  of  the  strangely  absorbing  adventures  of  a 
"matrimonial  sleuth,"  "a  deputy  of  Cupid." 

"  Compared  with  him  Sherlock  Holmes  is  clumsy  and  without  human 
emotions." — Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

The  Tree  of  Heaven.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

If  you  looked  squarely  into  a  mirror  and  saw  your  PROFILE  instead 
of  your  full  face ;  if  you  suddenly  found  yourself  21  miles  away  from  yourself, 
you  would  be  in  one  of  the  tantalizing  situations  that  give  fascination  to  this 
charming  book. 

"  Robert  W.  Chambers  has  brought  his  great  charm  of  story  telling  to 
bear  in  '  The  Tree  of  Heaven,'  wherein  he  treats  of  the  occult  and  mysticism 
of  the  East.  His  vivid  descriptions  make  his  scenes  strangely  real,  and  his 
argument  is  convincing,  almost  against  the  will." — Milwaukee  Sentinel. 

The  Reckoning.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

A  story  of  northern  New  York  during  the  last  fierce  fights  between 
Tories  and  Revolutionaries  and  the  Iroquois  Indians,  by  which  tribe  the  hero 
had  been  adopted. 

"It  would  be  but  an  unresponsive  American  that  would  not  thrill  to 
such  relations." — New  York  Times. 

D.     APPLE  TON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW     YORK 


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